OF  '-LETTERS* 


UC-NRLF 


B    3   125 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


jttett  of 

MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI 


American 


of  %ettet$, 


MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 


BT 


THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON. 


UNtr 


BOSTON   AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Cambritige 


Copyright,  1884, 
BY  THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  INTRODUCTORY .      1 

II.  HEREDITARY  TRAITS 7 

III.  GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE 20 

IV.  COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROTON       ....        43 
V.  FINDING  A  FRIEND 62 

VI.  SCHOOL-TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE    75 

VII.  SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN    .  .94 

VIII.  CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON      ....        109 

IX.  A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN  .  .  .  130 
X.  THE  DIAL 154 

XL  BROOK  FARM 173 

XII.  BOOKS  PUBLISHED 187 

XIII.  BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK     ....  205 

XIV.  EUROPEAN  TRAVEL 220 

[     XV.  MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD        ....  232 

XVI.  LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE          .      248 

XVII.  CLOSING  SCENES 266 

XVIII.  LITERARY  TRAITS 281 

XIX.  PERSONAL  TRAITS  .  .  299 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  APPENDIX 315 

INDEX     ,  .  319 


213366 


MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 


INTRODUCTORY. 

IT  has  long  been  my  desire  to  write  a  new 
memoir  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli,  a  person  whose 
career  is  more  interesting,  as  it  seems  to  me,  than 
that  of  any  other  American  of  her  sex ;  a  woman 
whose  aims  were  high  and  whose  services  great ; 
one  whose  intellect  was  uncommon,  whose  activity 
incessant,  whose  life  varied,  and  whose  death  dra 
matic.  Thirty  years  having  passed  since  the  pub 
lication  of  her  "  Memoirs,"  it  has  seemed  possible 
that  a  biography  might  now  be  written  almost 
wholly  from  new  or  unused  material,  thus  afford 
ing  a  positive  addition  to  what  was  before  known 
of  her,  and  not  a  mere  restatement  of  what  was 
already  before  the  public.  In  this  aspect,  at  least, 
the  effort  has  been  successful,  nearly  every  cita 
tion  in  the  book  being  from  manuscript  sources  ; 
and  the  study  of  these  materials  having  in  all  re 
spects  controlled  the  delineation  here  given  of  her 
life.  Recognizing  the  great  value  of  the  portrait- 
l 


2  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

ure  already  drawn  of  her  character  by  the  authors 
of  the  "  Memoirs,"  and  the  excellence  of  Mrs. 
Howe's  more  condensed  biography,  I  have  some 
times  ventured  to  vary  from  their  estimate,  and 
to  rely  on  my  own. 

It  so  happened  that  Margaret  Fuller  was  asso 
ciated  with  me,  not  closely  but  definitely,  by  va 
rious  personal  ties.  She  was  born  and  bred  in  the 
same  town,  though  more  than  thirteen  years  older ; 
she  was  the  friend  of  my  older  sisters,  and  I  was 
the  playmate  of  her  younger  brothers ;  her  only 
sister  was  afterwards  closely  connected  with  me 
by  marriage,  and  came  for  especial  reasons,  with 
her  children,  peculiarly  under  my  charge  ;  and, 
though  this  was  after  Margaret  Fuller's  death,  it 
yet  contributed  with  all  the  other  circumstances 
to  make  the  Fuller  family  seem  like  kindred  of 
my  own.  It  moreover  happened  that  Margaret 
Fuller  had  upon  me,  through  her  writings,  a  more 
immediate  intellectual  influence  than  any  one  ex 
cept  Emerson,  and  possibly  Parker.  All  this  guar 
antees  that  warm  feeling  of  personal  interest,  with 
out  which  no  memoir  can  be  well  written,  while 
there  was  yet  too  little  of  intimacy  to  give  place 
for  the  glamour  of  affection.  This  biography  may 
therefore  serve  as  an  intermediate  step  between 
the  original  "Memoirs" — which  gave  the  esti 
mate  offered  by  personal  friendship  • —  and  that 
remoter  verdict  which  will  be  the  judgment  of  an 
impartial  posterity. 

The  sources  on  which  I  have  chiefly  relied  are 


INTRODUCTORY.  3 

(1)  the  five  bulky  volumes  in  possession  of  the 
Fuller  family,  into  which  a  great  variety  of  writ 
ten  material  was  transcribed  by  Rev.  A.  B.  Fuller, 
after  the  publication  of  the  "  Memoirs,"  —  and 
to  which  I  have  referred  always  as  the  "  Fuller 
MSS."  ;  (2)  Margaret  Fuller's  letters  to  Mr.  Em 
erson,  kindly  lent  me  by  Mr.  Emerson's  execu 
tors  ;  (3)  her  letters  to  Dr.  F.  H.  Hedge,  lent  me 
by  himself  ;  (4)  those  to  the  Hon.  A.  G.  Greene, 
of  Providence,  R.  I.,  sent  me  by  his  daughter, 
Mrs.  S.  C.  Eastman,  of  Concord,  N.  H.  ;  (5)  those 
to  the  Hon.  George  T.  Davis,  shown  to  me  by  his 
son,  James  C.  Davis,  Esq.  ;  (6)  many  letters  and 
papers  of  different  periods,  sent  to  me  from  Lon 
don  by  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing  ;  (7)  Margaret 
Fuller's  diary  of  1844,  lent  by  Mrs.  R.  B.  Storer, 
of  Cambridge ;  (8)  her  traveling  diary  in  England 
and  Scotland,  which  I  own  ;  (9)  several  volumes 
of  Mr.  A.  Bronson  Alcott's  MS.  diary;  (10)  a 
translation  of  her  letters  to  her  husband  in  Italy, 
the  version  being  made  by  the  late  Miss  Eliza 
beth  Hoar,  and  lent  me  by  her  sister,  Mrs.  R.  B. 
Storer.  To  this  I  may  add  a  store  of  remi 
niscences  from  Margaret  Fuller's  old  Cambridge 
friends.  In  the  cases  where  I  have  used  the  same 
written  material  with  the  editors  of  the  "  Mem 
oirs,"  the  selections  employed  have  been  wholly 
different.  A  few  printed  books,  issued  since  the 
publication  of  the  "  Memoirs,"  have  given  some 
aid,  especially  Horace  Greeley's  "  Recollections  of 
a  Busy  Life,"  Weiss's  "  Life  of  Theodore  Parker," 


4  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

and  the  "  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence ; "  but 
the  main  reliance  has  necessarily  been  placed  on 
material  not  hitherto  made  public ;  and  to  all  the 
friends  who  have  helped  me  to  this  I  am  pro 
foundly  grateful. 

If  my  view  of  Margaret  Fuller  differs  a  little 
from  that  of  previous  biographers,  it  is  due  to  the 
study  of  these  original  sources.  With  every  dis 
position  to  defer  to  the  authors  of  the  "  Mem 
oirs,"  all  of  whom  have  been  in  one  way  or  an 
other  my  friends  and  teachers,  I  am  compelled  in 
some  cases  to  go  with  what  seems  the  preponder 
ance  of  written  evidence  against  their  view.  Mar 
garet  Fuller  was  indeed,  as  one  of  them  has  lately 
said  to  me,  many  women  in  one,  and  there  is  room 
for  a  difference  of  opinion  even  in  assigning  a  key 
note  to  her  life.  In  their  analysis,  these  biogra 
phers  seem  to  me  to  have  given  an  inevitable 
prominence  to  her  desire  for  self-culture,  perhaps 
because  it  was  on  this  side  that  she  encountered 
them  ;  but  I  think  that  any  one  who  will  patiently 
study  her  in  her  own  unreserved  moments  will 
now  admit  that  what  she  always  most  desired  was 
not  merely  self-culture,  but  a  career  of  mingled 
thought  and  action,  such  as  she  finally  found.  She 
who,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  met  young  scholars  re 
turned  from  Europe  with  enthusiastic  vindications 
of  American  society  against  their  attacks ;  she  who, 
a  few  years  after,  read  with  delight  all  Jefferson's 
correspondence,  was  not  framed  by  nature  for  a 
mystic,  a  dreamer,  or  a  book-worm.  She  longed, 


INTRODUCTORY.  5 

as  she  herself  said,  to  be  a  Pericles  rather  than  an 
Anaxagoras ;  and  she  occupied  her  time  with  om 
nivorous  study,  with  writing,  with  talking,  with 
mysticism,  while  waiting  for  her  career.  In  view 
of  all  this,  I  cannot  resist  the  opinion  that  the 
prevalent  tone  of  the  "  Memoirs  "  leaves  her  a 
little  too  much  in  the  clouds,  and  gives  us  too  lit 
tle  of  that  vigorous  executive  side  which  was  al 
ways  prominent  in  her  aspirations  for  herself,  and 
which  was  visible  to  all  after  she  reached  Italy. 

I  am  the  more  led  to  say  this  because  it  is 
essential  to  the  plan  of  the  present  series  that  I 
should  dwell  chiefly  on  her  literary  life,  while 
knowing  that  this  life  was  only  preliminary,  and 
that  she  would  not  have  wished  to  be  judged  by 
it  after  she  had  once  entered  on  the  life  of  action. 
The  following  pages  will,  I  hope,  be  a  more  ade 
quate  record  than  has  before  been  given  of  what 
she  did  for  our  dawning  literature  ;  but  they  yet 
leave  room  for  a  book  by  some  other  hand  that 
shall  fully  delineate  the  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli 
who  stood  by  the  side  of  Mazzini  in  Italy,  and 
whose  hands  the  young  patriots  clasped  in  the 
hospital  crying,  "  Viva  1'Italia "  as  they  died. 
At  the  very  moment  when  Lowell  was  satirizing 
her  in  his  "  Fable  for  Critics,"  she  was  leading 
such  a  life  as  no  American  woman  had  led  in  this 
century  before.  During  our  own  civil  war  many 
women  afterwards  led  it,  and  found  out  for  them 
selves  what  it  was ;  but  by  that  time  Margaret 
Fuller  Ossoli  had  passed  away.  Still,  as  I  said, 


6  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

I  must  now  make  that  part  of  her  record  secon 
dary  and  dwell  chiefly  on  its  intellectual  side  ; 
only  keeping  before  my  readers  the  fact  that  the 
best  part  of  intellect  is  action,  and  that  this  was 
always  her  especial  creed. 


n. 

HEREDITARY  TRAITS. 

"  WE  are  never  better  understood,"  says  Mar 
garet  Fuller  in  her  fragment  of  autobiographical 
romance,  "  than  when  we  speak  of  4  a  Roman  vir 
tue,'  '  a  Roman  outline.' '  She  goes  on  :  "  There 
is  somewhat  indefinite,  somewhat  yet  unfulfilled 
in  the  thought  of  Greece,  of  Spain,  of  modern 
Italy ;  but  ROME,  it  stands  by  itself  a  clear  Word. 
The  power  of  will,  the  dignity  of  a  fixed  purpose, 
is  what  it  utters.  Every  Roman  was  an  em 
peror."  Tried  by  this  standard,  she  herself  may 
be  said  to  have  had  a  Roman  parentage.  An  ele 
ment  of  strength  went  through  all  her  ancestry. 

And  the  quality  which  was  their  drawback  — 
too  much  of  self-assertion  —  was  essentially  Ro 
man  also.  "  It  never  shocks  us,"  the  autobiogra 
phy  continues,  "  that  the  Roman  is  self-conscious. 
One  wants  no  universal  truth  from  him,  no  phi 
losophy,  no  creation,  but  only  his  life,  his  Roman 
life,  felt  in  every  pulse,  realized  in  every  gesture. 
The  universal  heaven  takes  in  the  Roman  only  to 
make  us  feel  his  individuality  the  more.  The 
Will,  the  Resolve  of  Man  ;  it  has  been  expressed, 
fully  expressed." 


8  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

There  is  no  evidence  that  Margaret  Fuller  her 
self  had  ever  thought  of  any  such  analogy  as  I 
find  between  the  type  thus  strongly  indicated 
and  the  race  from  which  she  sprung ;  but  in  my 
own  mind  it  is  clear  and  gave  the  key  to  her  life. 
Let  us  go  back  to  her  ancestry  and  trace  this  fine 
thread  of  New  England  vigor  —  which  was  a 
Roman  vigor,  touched  by  Christianity  —  running 
through  it  all. 

Thomas  Fuller,  entitled  "Lieutenant"  in  the 
probate  proceedings  on  his  will,  came  from  Eng 
land  to  America  in  1638,  and  left  this  record  of 
his  spiritual  experiences. 

"  In  thirty-eight  I  set  my  foot 
On  this  New  England  shore  ; 
My  thoughts  were  then  to  stay  one  year, 
And  here  remain  no  more. 

"  But,  by  the  preaching  of  God's  word 
By  famous  Shepard  he, 
In  what  a  wof  ul  state  I  was, 
I  then  began  to  see. 

"  Christ  cast  his  garments  over  me, 
And  all  my  sins  did  cover  : 
More  precious  to  my  soul  was  he 
Than  dearest  friend  or  lover. 

"  His  pardoning  mercy  to  my  soul 
All  thought  did  far  surmount ; 
The  measure  of  his  love  to  me 
Was  quite  beyond  account.  .  .  . 

"  I  said,  My  mountain  does  stand  strong, 
And  doubtless  't  will  forever  ; 
But  soon  God  turned  his  face  away, 
And  joy  from  me  did  sever. 


HEREDITARY  TRAITS.  9 

"  Sometimes  I  am  on  mountains  high, 
Sometimes  in  valleys  low :  — 
The  state  that  man  Js  in  here  below, 
Doth  ofttimes  ebb  and  flow.  .  .  . 

"  But  surely  God  will  save  my  soul ! 
And,  though  you  trouble  have, 
My  children  dear,  who  fear  the  Lord, 
Your  souls  at  death  he  '11  save." 

The  author  of  these  lines  was  detained  in  Amer 
ica,  it  seems,  by  the  preaching  of  Rev.  Mr.  Shep- 
ard,  of  Cambridge,  known  in  the  obituaries  of 
that  period  as  "  the  holy,  heavenly,  sweet-affecting 
and  soul-ravishing  Mr.  Shepard."  Thus  guided 
and  influenced,  Lieutenant  Fuller  bought  lands  in 
Middleton,  then  a  part  of  Salem,  Mass.,  —  lands 
a  portion  of  which  is  still  in  the  possession  of  some 
of  his  descendants.  He  built  a  house  there,  but 
afterwards  removed  to  Woburn,  where  he  died. 
His  son  Jacob  and  his  grandson  Jacob  succeeded 
him  at  Middleton,  and  a  great-grandson,  Timothy, 
was  also  born  there  in  1739,  of  whom  more  must 
be  said. 

Timothy  Fuller  graduated  at  Harvard  College 
in  1760,  and  his  name,  with  that  date,  might  long 
be  seen  upon  the  corner-stone  of  the  building 
called  Stoughton.  He  became  a  clergyman,  was 
settled  in  Princeton,  Mass.,  and  differed  from  most 
of  his  parishioners  in  regarding  the  impending 
American  Revolution  as  premature.  He  therefore 
preached  a  sermon  to  the  "  minute-men,"  choosing 
for  his  text  the  passage,  "  Let  not  him  that  gird- 
eth  on  the  harness  boast  himself  as  he  that  putteth 


10  MARGARET 'FULLER  OSSOLI. 

it  off."  But  the  minute-men  found  it  more  satis 
factory  to  gird  on  the  harness  and  put  off  the  min 
ister  ;  so  the  Rev.  Timothy  Fuller  was  dismissed 
from  his  parish  by  an  ecclesiastical  council  in 
1776.  He  preached  elsewhere  ;  sued  the  town  of 
Princeton  in  vain  for  his  salary ;  had  even  to  pay 
the  costs,  for  which  contingency  he  had  carefully 
kept  money ;  but  finally  came  back  to  the  town  as 
a  farmer,  his  large  farm  embracing  the  Wachusett 
Mountain.  He  evidently  regained  the  full  confi 
dence  of  his  rebellious  parishioners,  for  he  repre 
sented  Princeton  in  the  state  convention  which 
accepted  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 
Independent  as  ever,  he  voted  steadily  against 
that  instrument,  and  has  left  on  record  his  rea 
sons,  all  based  on  the  fact  that  the  Constitution 
recognized  human  slavery.  In  this  attitude  he  no 
doubt  found  support  from  his  wife,  whose  father, 
the  Rev.  Abraham  Williams,  had  emancipated  his 
own  slaves  by  will ;  had  required  his  children  to 
give  bonds  for  their  support  in  old  age,  if  needed  ; 
and  had  deprived  any  child  so  delinquent  of  all 
share  in  his  estate,  substituting  in  that  case  "  a 
new  Bible  of  the  cheapest  sort,  hoping  that,  by 
the  blessing  of  Heaven,  it  may  teach  them  to  do 
justice  and  love  mercy."  Thus  fortified  on  his 
wife's  side,  also,  in  Roman  virtue  and  anti-slavery 
principles,  the  Rev.  Timothy  Fuller  died  in  1805, 
five  years  before  the  birth  of  his  most  eminent 
grandchild,  Margaret. 

He  left  five  daughters  and  five  sons,  all  these 


HEREDITARY   TRAITS.  11 

last  being  lawyers, — a  monotony  of  occupation 
more  common  in  those  days  than  now.  These 
sons  were  men  of  marked  character,  possessing 
many  admirable  and  some  unpleasing  qualities, 
and  these  in  sufficient  uniformity  to  cause  their 
being  liked  and  disliked  —  especially  the  latter  — 
in  a  body.  Horace  Mann,  who  was  a  person  of 
rather  vehement  preferences,  and  who,  as  a  law 
yer,  knew  the  brothers  well,  once  said  to  me  that 
if  Margaret  Fuller  was  unpopular,  it  was  not  from 
any  prejudice  against  her  as  a  woman,  but  because 
she  probably  combined  "the  disagreeableness  of 
forty  Fullers."  It  was  not  true,  for  she  had  fortu 
nately  one  of  the  sweetest  mothers  who  ever  lived, 
and  her  nature  was  thus  tempered  on  the  "  spin 
dle-side  ; "  but  the  remark  showed  the  traditions 
of  the  paternal  race.  Several  of  the  Fuller  broth 
ers  I  can  distinctly  remember,  and,  to  one  thus  re 
calling  them,  it  is  not  difficult  to  comprehend  just 
where  Horace  Mann's  dislike  came  in,  although  to 
some  of  the  brotherhood  he  doubtless  did  injustice. 
They  were  in  general  men  of  great  energy,  push 
ing,  successful,  of  immense  and  varied  informa 
tion,  of  great  self-esteem,  and  without  a  particle 
of  tact.  My  mother  used  to  tell  a  characteristic 
story  of  Abraham  Fuller,  who  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  her  house  in  Cambridge,  and  whom 
every  Cantabrigian  of  that  period  must  remem 
ber.  Coming  in  and  finding  my  mother  darning 
her  children's  stockings,  he  watched  her  a  little, 
while,  and  then  said,  abruptly,  "  You  do  not  know 


12  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

how  to  darn  stockings ;  let  me  show  you."  He 
being  an  old  bachelor,  and  she  the  mother  of  ten 
children,  the  remark  seemed  the  very  climax  of 
impudence ;  but  he  took  the  needle  from  her,  and 
taught  her,  as  she  always  maintained,  more  about 
darning  stockings  than  she  had  ever  known  in 
her  life  before.  This  combination  of  unexpected 
knowledge  and  amazing  frankness  in  its  proclama 
tion  shows  what  a  critic  like  Horace  Mann,  him 
self  not  wanting  in  self-assertion,  might  have  found 
to  suggest  antagonism  in  "  forty  Fullers." 

Of  a  family  thus  gifted  and  thus  opinionated, 
Timothy  Fuller,  Margaret  Fuller's  father,  was  the 
oldest,  the  most  successful,  and  the  most  assured. 
He  was  born  July  11,  1778,  and  received  his  fa 
ther's  name  ;  graduated  at  Harvard  College,  with 
the  second  honors  of  his  class,  in  1801  ;  was  at 
different  times  a  member  of  various  branches  of 
the  state  government  of  Massachusetts ;  and  was 
a  representative  in  Congress  from  1817  to  1825. 
Pie  was  in  politics  a  Jeffersonian  Democrat,  was 
chairman  of  the  House  committee  on  naval  affairs, 
and  was  a  warm  supporter  of  John  Quincy  Adams 
for  the  presidency.  Many  references  to  him  may 
be  found  in  Mr.  Adams's  voluminous  diary.  In 
heriting  anti-slavery  principles  on  both  sides,  he 
warmly  opposed  the  Missouri  Compromise,  and  his 
speeches  on  this  and  other  subjects  found  their 
way  into  print.  He  worked  hard  in  his  profes 
sion,  kept  up  his  classical  reading,  and  was  mak 
ing  preparations  to  write  a  history  of  the  United 


HEREDITARY  TRAITS.  13 

States,  when  he  died  suddenly  of  Asiatic  cholera, 
October  1,  1835. 

I  have  carefully  read  some  of  his  published  ad 
dresses  :  a  Fourth-of-July  oration  at  Watertown 
in  1809,  and  one  at  Lexington  in  1814 ;  also  an 
address  before  the  American  Peace  Society  in 
1826.  In  all  these  there  are  the  characteristics 
to  be  found  in  a  thousand  similar  speeches  of  that 
period,  together  with  some  not  so  common.  They 
are  fervent,  patriotic,  florid ;  but  there  is  also  a 
certain  exceptional  flavor  arising  from  the  fact 
that,  unlike  nine  tenths  of  those  who  made  such 
addresses  in  New  England,  the  speaker  was  a  Re 
publican  —  or,  as  men  were  beginning  to  say,  a 
Democrat  —  and  not  a  Federalist.  He  does  not 
appear  in  these  addresses  as  a  bitter  partisan ;  he 
is  as  ready  to  praise  Washington  and  Adams  as 
Jefferson  and  Madison  ;  but  he  never  mentions 
Hamilton  and  Jay,  and  seems  by  implication  to 
condemn  the  policy  of  the  one,  and  the  treaty  with 
which  the  name  of  the  other  is  still  identified. 
Nor  does  he  take  sides  with  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
as  the  Federalists  charged  the  Democrats  with 
doing,  while  he  condemns,  in  a  really  striking 
and  felicitous  passage,  the  selfish  motives  of  the 
Allied  Powers  in  crushing  him  :  — 

"  At  length  the  mighty  warrior  is  prostrate  ;  his  proud 
trophies,  the  spoils  of  so  many  vanquished  princes,  are 
leveled  with  the  dust.  Napoleon  is  no  more  !  No 
more,  did  I  say  ?  The  blaze  of  that  portentous  meteor 
shall  gleam  resplendent  through  all  future  time ! 


14  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

"  The  proud  banner  of  England,  in  close  contact  with 
her  imperial  coadjutors,  waves  in  triumph  over  the 
French  metropolis.  The  destinies  of  the  vast  empire 
of  France  and  the  partition  of  Europe  await  the  nod  of 
those  same  princes,  who  so  lately  trembled  in  their  cap 
itals.  The  '  disinterested  and  magnanimous  allies,'  the 
*  deliverers  of  the  world,'  seem  very  affectionate  to  the 
world  they  have  delivered.  Their  '  labor  of  love  '  is 
only  begun.  One  takes  Poland  under  his  gracious  pro 
tection,  another  is  pleased  to  take  Norway,  a  third 
Italy ;  and  modest  England  resigns  to  each  his  favorite 
portion  of  prostrate  Europe,  and  only  claims,  as  a  small 
gratuity,  the  rest  of  the  world !  France  pays  fifteen  hun 
dred  millions  of  francs  for  the  acquisition  of  her  ancient 
dynasty.  Oh,  how  would  the  heart  of  every  American 
rejoice;  how  should  we  at  this  moment  hymn  praises  to 
Heaven,  if  the  generous  prince  who  once  espoused  our 
cause  in  distress,  now  filled  his  rightful  throne !  But 
it  may  not  be,  —  '  The  son  of  St.  Louis  is  ascended  to 
heaven.' " l 

True  to  the  anti-slavery  traditions  of  his  father 
and  grandfather,  Timothy  Fuller  pointed  out,  as 
early  as  1809,  that  the  Constitution  manifested 
"  a  temporary  indulgence  to  a  system  which  it 
nevertheless  reprehends  in  the  Southern  States," 

yet  he  found  in  this  concession  a  masterpiece 

of  skill,  although,  as  has  been  said,  his  own  father 
had  voted  against  the  instrument  on  this  very 
ground.  He  was  faithful  in  denouncing,  three 
years  before  the  war  of  1812,  those  English  out 
rages  in  the  way  of  search  and  impressment  for 

i  Address,  July  4,  1814,  p.  20. 


HEREDITARY  TRAITS.  15 

which  the  Federalists  mistakenly  apologized  ;  and 
if  he  was  so  hopeful  as  to  assert,  without  qualifi 
cation,  "  None  but  just  wars  can  ever  be  waged 
by  a  free  country,"  we  can  pardon  something  to 
republican  zeal.  Like  other  Americans  in  that 
day,  he  found  a  hero  in  Bolivar ;  and  he  held  up 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  with  some  vigor  as  a  warn 
ing  to  that  popular  leader :  — 

"  Should  Bolivar,  so  much  admired,  so  much  ap 
plauded,  so  often  dignified  by  a  comparison  with  the 
highest  name  in  the  annals  of  patriotism,  degenerate  at 
last  into  a  vulgar  hero,  a  military  usurper,  the  betrayer 
of  his  country  ;  great  indeed  will  be  his  degradation, 
loud  the  execrations  of  mankind,  deep  and  eternal  the 
odium  of  posterity.  Let  him  beware  of  the  temptation, 
lest  he  share  the  fate  of  him,  who  so  lately  seemed  to 
hold  the  destinies  of  EUROPE  in  his  hand.  The  career 
of  military  power  glared  upon  the  eye,  and  bewildered 
the  senses,  but  was  followed  by  swift  retribution  upon 
the  usurper.  He,  who  might  forever  have  been  honored 
as  the  champion  of  freedom,  is  consigned  to  the  faithful 
historian  to  record  in  blood  his  deeds  of  injustice,  usur 
pation  and  oppression.  Let  him  then,  who  still  soars 
in  the  meridian  of  success,  warned  by  the  fate  of  law 
less  ambition,  take  counsel  from  the  GREAT  and  GOOD 
FAYETTE,  crowned  with  the  benedictions  of  a  grateful 
nation  ;  let  him  learn  wisdom  from  his  own  imputed 
prototype,  and  become  unequivocally,  irrevocably,  glo 
riously,  the  benefactor  of  nations,  «  THE  WASHINGTON 
OF  THE  SOUTH.' vl 

But  that  Timothy  Fuller  was  capable  of  doing 

1  Oration  o*  Peace,  p.  19. 


16  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

some  justice  to  opponents  is  evident  in  the  tribute 
which  he  pays,  as  a  lawyer,  to  the  integrity  of 
the  British  admiralty  courts  even  in  time  of  war. 
When  we  consider  how  hard  it  was  for  the  dis 
ciples  of  Jefferson  to  admit  that  anything  good 
could  come  out  of  England,  we  are  justified,  I 
think,  in  attributing  to  Timothy  Fuller  a  certain 
candor  as  well  as  independence  of  mind,  in  writ 
ing  thus :  — 

"  During  the  late  wars  in  Europe,  in  which  Great 
Britain  so  largely  participated,  and  when  her  cruisers 
arrested  the  progress  of  our  neutral  commerce,  the 
appeals  to  her  justice  were  first  made  through  her 
Courts  of  Admiralty  ;  and  it  is  due  to  those  courts  to 
admit  that  those  appeals  were  seldom  made  in  vain,  un 
til  the  Executive  power  interposed,  and  required  their 
obedience  to  unjust  and  arbitrary  rules,  and  orders  of 
the  King  in  Council,  unknown  to  the  codes  of  inter 
national  law.  The  interference  was  open,  and  avowed, 
under  the  odious  and  infamous  plea  of  retaliation  upon 
the  enemy.  The  obstacle  was  too  great  to  be  overcome 
by  the  integrity  of  the  judge ;  yet  the  rectitude  of  his 
principles  has  not  been  questioned. 

"  This  and  other  examples  prove  that  it  is  not  difficult 
to  constitute  a  tribunal  of  learned,  intelligent,  and  up 
right  men,  selected  upon  fair  principles  of  reciprocal 
and  equal  rights  for  the  adjustment  of  controversies 
between  nations."  l 

Such  was  the  father  of  Margaret  Puller,  a  man 
of  some  narrowness  and  undue  self-assertion,  very 

1  Peace  Address,  p.  24. 


HEREDITARY   TRAITS.  17 

likely  ;  but  conscientious,  vigorous,  well-informed, 
and  public-spirited.  His  daughter  Margaret  al 
ways  recognized,  after  all  his  mistakes,  her  great 
intellectual  obligations  to  him  ;  and  his  accurate 
habits  of  mind  were  always  mentioned  by  her 
with  admiration.  "  Your  father  "  she  wrote  to 
her  brother  Richard,  many  years  later,  "  had  very 
great  power  of  attention  ;  I  have  never  seen  any 
person  who  excelled  him  in  that;"1  and  she  es 
sayed  to  carry  into  her  ideal  realms  the  same 
laborious  and  careful  habits  which  he  had  brought 
to  bear  in  law  and  statesmanship.  Meanwhile 
she  derived  from  her  mother  a  different,  and,  in 
some  ways,  a  more  elevating  influence.  Mrs. 
Fuller  long  outlived  both  daughter  and  husband, 
and  I  remember  her  very  well.  She  must  have 
been  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most  self-effacing 
wives  ever  ruled  by  a  strong-willed  spouse.  Her 
maiden  name  was  Margaret  Crane,  and  she  was 
the  daughter  of  Major  Peter  Crane,  of  Canton, 
Mass.  Of  what  good  Puritan  stock  she  also  came 
may  be  seen  not  alone  in  the  sturdy  militia- title 
which  her  father  bore,  but  in  the  following  pic 
ture,  recalling  some  of  Heine's  or  Erckmann- 
Chatrian's  peasant  sketches,  of  her  old  mother 
—  the  maternal  grandmother  of  Margaret  Fuller. 
The  grand-daughter  gives  this  description  of  the 
good  lady,  as  she  appeared  in  later  life :  — 

"Mother  writes    that  my  dear  old   grandmother  is 
dead.     I  am  sorry  you    never    saw   her.     She  was  a 

i  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  p.  691. 
2 


18  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

picture  of  primitive  piety  as  she  sat,  holding  the  *  Saints' 
Rest '  in  her  hand,  with  her  bowed,  trembling  figure 
and  her  emphatic  nods,  and  her  bright,  sweet  blue  eyes. 
They  were  bright  to  the  last,  though  she  was  ninety. 
I  went  to  see  her  just  before  I  came  back  here.  It  is  a 
great  loss  to  mother,  who  felt  a  large  place  warmed  in 
her  heart  by  the  fond  and  grateful  love  of  this  aged 
parent."  1 

Margaret  Fuller's  mother  was  married  May  28, 
1809 ;  and  came  to  dwell,  with  her  husband,  in 
Cambridge.  She  had  in  youth  great  personal 
beauty,  the  inheritance  of  which  has  conspicu 
ously  come  down,  here  and  there,  to  her  descend 
ants.  This  consisted  especially  in  a  peculiar  rich 
ness  of  complexion,  which  time  had  spared  even 
to  the  period  when  I  knew  her.  She  was  tall, 
slender,  dignified  in  bearing,  but  awkward  rather 
than  graceful  in  movement,  and  with  an  especial 
sweetness  of  expression  in  her  face.  Her  manner 
is  excellently  described  in  a  phrase  applied  by 
Bettina  Brentano  to  her  friend  Giinderode  :  "  She 
was  timid-friendly."  During  her  husband's  pub 
lic  life  she  was  much  in  Washington  society  ;  but 
withdrew,  as  years  went  on,  into  a  sort  of  double 
domesticity,  dividing  her  life  between  her  chil 
dren  and  her  flowers.  Of  each  she  had  a  large 
family,  and,  when  she  removed  from  one  residence 
to  another,  the  garden  was  transplanted  like  the 
nursery.  She  had  eight  different  homes  during 
her  married  life ;  but  there  were  families  and  gen. 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


HEREDITARY  TRAITS.  19 

erations  of  plants  which  went  with  her  from  place 
to  place,  adhering  to  her  fortunes,  in  the  words  of 
her  son,  u  like  the  tenantry  of  a  feudal  lord."  One 
family  of  lilies  was  thus  perpetuated  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  and  was  bequeathed  to  her  children. 
She  wrote  once  to  her  daughter,  "  One  must  have 
grown  up  with  flowers  and  found  joy  and  sweet 
ness  in  them,  amidst  disagreeable  occupations,  to 
take  delight  in  them  as  I  do.  They  have  long 
had  power  to  bring  me  into  harmony  with  the 
Creator,  and  to  soothe  almost  any  irritation."  In 
accordance  with  this,  the  mother  seems  to  have 
naturally  suggested  to  the  daughter  some  flower- 
like  symbol.  Margaret  Fuller  writes  to  her 
brother,  "  We  cannot  be  sufficiently  grateful  for 
our  mother  —  so  fair  a  blossom  of  the  white  ama 
ranth —  truly  to  us  a  mother  in  this,  that  we  can 
venerate  her  piety.  Our  relations  to  her  have 
known  no  jar.  Nothing  vulgar  has  sullied  them ; 
and  in  this  respect  life  has  been  truly  domesti 
cated."  When  we  remember  that  she  of  whom 
this  was  written  was  no  feudal  lady,  "  flower-like 
and  delicate  "  like  Browning's  Duchess  ;  but  a 
faithful  and  laborious  New  England  matron,  able 
and  willing  to  perform  for  her  large  household 
the  humblest  services,  we  can  see  the  value  of 
this  tribute,  and  the  treasure  of  this  inheritance. 

Such  were  the  father  and  mother,  such  the  an 
cestry,  of  Margaret  Fuller.  We  shall  see,  as  we 
go  on,  the  traces  of  their  inherited  qualities  per 
vading  her  life. 


III. 

GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE. 

(1810-1833.) 

SARAH  MARGARET,  the  oldest  of  the  eight  chil 
dren  of  Timothy  and  Margaret  (Crane)  Fuller, 
was  born  May  23, 1810,  in  that  part  of  Cambridge 
still  known  as  Cambridgeport.  There  are  attrac 
tive  situations  in  that  suburb,  but  Cherry  Street 
can  scarcely  be  classed  among  them,  and  the 
tide  of  business  and  the  pressure  of  a  tenement- 
house  population  have  closed  in  upon  it  since  then. 
The  dwelling  of  Timothy  Fuller  still  stands  at  the 
corner  of  Eaton  Street,  and  is  easily  recognized 
by  the  three  elms  in  front,  two  of  which,  at 
least,  were  planted  by  him  in  the  year  when 
Margaret  was  born.  The  garden,  in  which  she 
and  her  mother  delighted,  has  long  since  van 
ished  ;  but  the  house  still  retains  a  certain  dig 
nity,  though  now  divided  into  three  separate  ten 
ements,  numbered  respectively  27,  29,  and  31 
Cherry  Street,  and  occupied  by  a  rather  migra 
tory  class  of  tenants.  The  pillared  doorway,  and 
the  carved  wreaths  above  it,  give  still  an  old-fash 
ioned  grace  to  the  somewhat  dilapidated  birth 
place  of  Margaret  Fuller. 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  21 

In  the  fragment  of  an  autobiographical  romance, 
given  in  her  "  Memoirs,"  there  is  a  graphic  sketch 
of  this  early  home ;  and  the  following  briefer  one, 
hitherto  unpublished,  occurs  in  a  journal  of  travel 
kept,  many  years  after,  for  her  brother  Richard  :  — 

"  I  feel  satisfied,  as  I  thought  I  should,  with  reading 
these  bolder  lines  in  the  manuscript  of  Nature.  Merely 
gentle  and  winning  scenes  are  not  enough  for  me;  I 
wish  my  lot  had  been  cast  amid  the  sources  of  the 
streams,  where  the  voice  of  the  hidden  torrent  is  heard 
by  night ;  where  the  eagle  soars,  and  the  thunder  re 
sounds  in  long  peals  from  side  to  side ;  where  the  grasp 
of  a  more  powerful  emotion  has  rent  asunder  the  rocks, 
and  the  long  purple  shadows  fall  like  a  broad  wing  upon 
the  valley.  All  places,  like  all  persons,  I  know,  have 
beauty  which  may  be  discovered  by  a  thoughtful  and 
observing  mind  ;  but  only  in  some  scenes  and  with  some 
people  can  I  expand,  and  feel  myself  at  home.  I  feel 
this  all  the  more  for  having  passed  my  childhood  in  such 
a  place  as  Cambridge  port.  There  I  had  nothing  except 
the  little  flower-garden  behind  the  house,  and  the  elms 
before  the  door.  I  used  to  long  and  pine  for  beautiful 
places  such  as  I  read  of.  There  was  not  one  walk  for 
me  except  over  the  bridge  ;  I  liked  that  very  much,  the 
river,  and  the  city  glittering  in  sunset,  and  the  lovely 
undulating  line  all  round,  and  the  light  smokes  seen  in 
some  weather." l 

Her  father,  from  her  early  childhood,  took 
charge  of  her  education,  and  devoted  to  it  much 
time.  She  began  to  study  Latin  at  the  age  of  six, 
and  was  carried  on,  from  that  period,  by  an  Intel* 

i  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  711-3. 


22  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

lectual  forcing  process.  It  was  the  custom  of  the 
time.  Rev.  Dr.  Hedge,  afterwards  her  intimate 
intellectual  companion,  assures  me  that  there  was 
nothing  peculiar,  for  that  period,  in  Mr.  Fuller's 
method,  except  that  it  was  applied  to  a  girl. 
Cambridge  boys,  if  the  sons  of  college-bred  rnen, 
were  brought  up  in  much  the  same  way.  Dr. 
Hedge  himself  was  fitted  for  college  at  eleven, 
and  had  read  half  the  body  of  Latin  literature  be 
fore  that  time.  What  made  the  matter  worse  in 
her  case  was  not  the  mere  fact  that  she  was  a  girl, 
though  that  doubtless  created  a  need  of  such 
watchful  care  as  only  a  mother  can  give.  There 
was  the  serious  additional  evil  that  all  her  lessons 
must  be  recited  after  her  father  came  back  from 
his  office,  and  therefore  at  irregular  hours,  often 
extending  late  into  the  evening.  High  pressure 
is  bad  enough  for  an  imaginative  and  excitable 
child,  but  high  pressure  by  candle-light  is  ruin 
ous  ;  yet  that  was  the  life  she  lived.  The  frag 
ment  of  autobiographical  romance  in  which  she 
vividly  describes  the  horrors  of  this  method  must 
not,  as  her  brother  Arthur  has  suggested,  be  taken 
too  literally ;  but  frequent  references  in  her  later 
journals  show  her  deep  sense  of  the  wrong  she 
suffered  in  mind  and  body  by  the  mistaken  sys 
tem  applied  in  her  early  youth.  Writing  in  her 
diary,  many  years  afterwards,  of  some  improve 
ments  in  physical  training,  especially  as  to  tight- 
lacing,  she  says :  — 

"  If  we  had  only  been  as  well  brought  up  in  these 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  23 

respects !  It  is  not  mother's  fault  that  she  was  igno 
rant  of  every  physical  law,  young,  untaught  country  girl 
as  she  was ;  but  I  can't  help  mourning,  sometimes,  that 
my  bodily  life  should  have  been  so  destroyed  by  the  ig 
norance  of  both  my  parents."  * 

At  thirteen,  Margaret  Fuller  was  so  precocious 
in  mind  and  appearance  as  to  take  her  place  in 
society  with  much  older  girls ;  she  went  to  parties 
of  young  people,  and  gave  such  entertainments  for 
herself.  Having  been  a  pupil  at  the  school,  then 
celebrated,  of  Dr.  Park,  in  Boston,  she  once  at 
tempted  to  mingle  her  two  sets  of  friends  —  Bos 
ton  and  Cambridge  —  at  a  party  given  in  her  own 
house.  The  attempt  was  disastrous  ;  she  had  lit 
tle  natural  tact,  and  her  endeavors  to  pay,  as  was 
proper,  the  chief  attention  to  the  stranger  guests 
brought  upon  her  the  general  indignation  of  her 
little  world  in  Cambridge.  Partly  in  consequence 
of  this  untoward  state  of  things,  and  in  order  to 
change  the  scene,  she  was  sent  as  a  pupil  to  the 
school  of  the  Misses  Prescott,  in  Groton.  There 
she  had  a  curious  episode  of  personal  experience, 
recorded  in  her  "Summer  on  the  Lakes"  as  hav 
ing  occurred  to  a  certain  fabled  "  Mariana  ;  "  and 
she  received  from  her  teachers  a  guidance  so  kind 
and  tender  as  to  make  her  grateful  for  it  during 
all  her  life.  She  returned  from  this  school  in  the 
spring  of  1825,  being  then  just  fifteen. 

At  this  time  she  lived,  as  always,  a  busy  life, — 
rose  before  five  in  summer,  walked  an  hour,  prao 

1  MS.  Diary,  1844 


24  MARGARET  FULLER  OS80LI. 

ticed  an  hour  on  the  piano,  breakfasted  at  seven, 
read  Sismondi's  "  European  Literature  "  in  French 
till  eight,  then  Brown's  "Philosophy"  till  half 
past  nine,  then  went  to  school  for  Greek  at  twelve, 
then  practiced  again  till  dinner.  After  the  early 
dinner  she  read  two  hours  in  Italian,  then  walked 
or  rode ;  and  in  the  evening  played,  sang,  and  re 
tired  at  eleven  to  write  in  her  diary.  This,  be  it 
observed,  was  at  the  very  season  when  girls  of 
fifteen  or  sixteen  are,  in  these  days,  on  their 
way  to  the  seashore  or  the  mountains.  The  school 
where  she  recited  Greek  was  a  private  institution 
of  high  character  in  Cambridgeport,  known  famil 
iarly  as  the  "  C.  P.  P.  G.  S.,"  or  "  Cambridge 
Port  Private  Grammar  School,"  a  sort  of  acad 
emy,  kept  at  that  time  by  Mr.  Perkins,  a  gradu 
ate  of  Yale  College.  It  was  so  excellent  that  it 
drew  many  pupils  from  what  was  then  called  Old 
Cambridge,  —  now  Harvard  Square, —  then  quite 
distinct  from  "  the  Port,"  and  not  especially  dis 
posed  to  go  to  it  for  instruction.  Dr.  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  was  one  of  Margaret  Fuller's 
fellow  pupils,  as  were  John  Holmes,  his  younger 
brother,  and  Richard  Henry  Dana.  From  those 
who  were  her  associates  in  this  school,  it  is  pos 
sible  to  obtain  a  very  distinct  impression  of  her 
as  she  then  appeared. 

She  came  to  school  for  these  Greek  recitations 
only,  and  was  wont  to  walk  in  with  that  peculiar 
carriage  of  the  head  and  those  half-shut  eyelids 
which  have  been  so  often  described ;  and  which 


CHILDHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  25 

were  so  far  from  producing  antagonism  among  the 
younger  girls  that  they  rather  caused  an  amusing 
sense  of   envy  and  emulation.     "  We   thought," 
said  one  among  them  to  me,   "  that  if  we  could 
only  come  into  school  that  way,  we  could  know  as 
much  Greek  as  she  did."     Other  traits  of   hers 
these  youthful  observers  also  noted  with  admira 
tion.     There  was  then  a  social  library  in  one  of 
the  village  shops  ;  to  this  she  would  go,  wearing 
a  hooded  cloak  ;  she  would  take  off  the  cloak,  fill 
the  hood  with  books,  swing  it  over  her  shoulders, 
books  and  all,  and  so  carry  it  home.     "We  all 
wished,"  said  my  informant,  "  that  our  mothers 
would  let  us  have  hooded  cloaks,  that  we  might 
carry  our  books  in  the  same  way."     Yet  it  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  their  impression  that  she 
neglected  her  home  duties  for  the  sake  of  knowl 
edge  ;  such  was  her  conceded  ability  that  she  was 
supposed  equal  to  doing  everything  at  once.     It 
was  currently  reported  that  she  could  rock  the  cra 
dle,  read  a  book,  eat  an  apple,  and  knit  a  stocking, 
all  at  the  same  time ;  and  here  also  the  indefati 
gable  imitation  of  her  young  admirers  toiled  after 
her  in  vain.     How  she  impressed  the  boys,  mean 
while,  may  be  gathered  from  Dr.  Holmes's  amus 
ing  description  of  the  awe  with  which  he  regarded 
the  opening  sentence  of  one  of  her  school  compo 
sitions  :  "  It  is  a  trite  remark."  l     Alas  !   he  did 
not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  trite." 

A  lady,  who  at  a  later  period  knew  Margaret 

1  Atlantic  Monthly,  xxiii.  1 1 7. 


26  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Fuller  well,  writes  me  a  characteristic  reminis 
cence  of  the  first  glimpse  of  her ;  at  a  time  when 
she  came  as  an  unexpected  guest  to  my  inform 
ant's  house,  on  the  occasion  of  a  little  party  of 
younger  children.  She  entered,  a  tall  girl  of 
fifteen,  plain,  but  with  "  a  peculiar  swaying  grace 
in  her  motion."  She  happened  to  carry  in  her 
hand  a  large  handkerchief,  such  as  it  was  the 
fashion  of  those  days  to  use  ;  and  with  this  hand 
kerchief  for  a  bdton  she  at  once  assumed  direction 
of  the  children  ;  waving  her  sign  of  office  by  one 
corner  as  she  guided  them  in  new  games,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  mother  and  elder  sisters, 
who  found  themselves  relieved  of  all  trouble  in 
the  entertainment.  "  I  was  greatly  drawn  to  her," 
says  my  informant,  then  a  girl  of  eleven  or 
twelve.  Children  are  keen  critics  of  one  another, 
and  this  testimony  from  a  juvenile  hostess  proves 
the  essential  bonhomie  and  cordiality  of  the  stran 
ger  guest.  And  whenever,  from  this  time  on,  she 
assumed  the  part  of  leadership  in  a  mixed  com 
pany,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  attitude  was  al 
ways  accepted  as  natural  and  agreeable  by  those 
present ;  it  was  only  the  absent  who  criticised. 

There  seems  to  be  no  foundation  for  the  view 
suggested  recently,  that  Mr.  Fuller  was  moved,  in 
his  efforts  to  give  his  daughter  a  high  education, 
by  a  baffled  social  ambition.  In  the  first  place, 
there  was  very  little  room  for  any  such  thing  ;  the 
Cambridge  society  was  very  simple,  as  it  still  re 
mains;  and  Mr.  Fuller's  standing,  being  that  of 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE  27 

a  lawyer  and  congressman,  was  as  good  as  any 
body's.  There  was  a  prejudice  against  him  po 
litically,  no  doubt,  he  being  a  Democrat  when  the 
ruling  classes  in  Massachusetts  were  Federalists ; 
but  his  social  position  was  unimpaired.  Neither 
he  nor  his  wife  had  the  attribute  of  personal  ele 
gance  or  grace  ;  but  he  evidently  took  pains  to  fill 
the  prominent  place  to  which  he  was  justly  enti 
tled  ;  and  an  entertainment  given  by  him  to  John 
Quincy  Adams,  the  President,  in  1826,  was  one  of 
the  most  elaborate  affairs  of  the  kind  that  had  oc 
curred  in  Cambridge  since  the  ante-revolutionary 
days  of  the  Lechmeres  and  Vassalls.  He  was  then 
residing  in  a  fine  old  mansion,  built  by  Chief 

Justice  Dana,  on  what  is  still  called  Dana  Hill, 

a  house  destroyed  by  fire  in  1839,  —  and  his  guests 
were  invited  from  far  and  near  to  a  dinner  and  a 
ball.  Few  Cambridge  hosts  would  then  have  at 
tempted  so  much  as  this ;  but  had  Mr.  Fuller's 
social  prominence  been  far  less  than  it  was,  he 
would  have  been  the  very  last  person  to  find  out 
the  deficiency.  Had  he  lived  next  door  to  an  im 
perial  palace,  he  would  have  thought  that  it  was 
he  who  did  the  favor  by  mingling  with  his  neigh 
bors.  As  to  his  daughter,  he  took  pride  in  her 
precocious  abilities,  and  enjoyed  her  companion 
ship  in  his  favorite  studies ;  that  tells  the  whole 
story.  Stimulating,  even  flattering,  his  compan 
ionship  might  be  ;  but  tender,  wise,  considerate, 
it  could  not  be.  On  that  side  —  and  it  was  with 
her  the  important  side  —  she  cast  herself  against 


28  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

an  iron  wall.  Her  early  diaries  were  burned  by 
herself  long  after,  and  it  is  only  "by  glimpses  in 
her  later  papers  that  we  can  reconstruct  this 
girlish  life.  Looking  back,  at  the  age  of  thirty, 
she  writes  in  a  fragment  of  journal :  — 

"  When  I  recollect  how  deep  the  anguish,  how  deepev- 
still  the  want,  with  which  I  walked  alone  in  hours  ot 
childish  passion  and  called  for  a  Father,  after  saying  the 
word  a  hundred  times,  till  it  was  stifled  by  sobs,  how 
great  seems  the  duty  that  name  imposes."  1 

Under  ordinary  circumstances,  the  mothers  in 
fluence  comes  in  to  fill  this  void.  Unfortunately 
Mr.  Fuller  for  many  years  deemed  it  his  mission 
to  be  both  father  and  mother ;  and  his  sweet 
wife,  absorbed  in  her  younger  children,  insensibly 
yielded.  His  authority  over  his  daughter  did  not 
stop  with  the  world  of  books.  Many  a  man  feels 
bound  vigorously  to  superintend  the  intellectual 
education  of  his  little  maiden,  and  then  leaves 
all  else  —  dress,  society,  correspondence  —  to  the 
domain  of  the  mother.  Not  so  with  Mr.  Fuller. 
It  is  the  testimony  of  those  who  then  knew  the 
family  well  that  his  wife  surrendered  all  these 
departments  also  to  his  sway.  He  was  to  control 
the  daughter's  whole  existence.  Jean  Paul  says 
that  the  mother  puts  the  commas  and  the  semi 
colons  into  the  child's  life,  but  the  father  the  co 
lons  and  the  periods.  In  the  Fuller  household  the 
whole  punctuation  was  masculine.  Had  Margaret 
an  invitation,  her  father  decided  whether  it  should 
i  MS. 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  29 

be  accepted,  and  suggested  what  she  should  wear  ; 
did  she  receive  company  at  home,  he  made  out  the 
list;  and  when  the  evening  came,  he  and  his 
daughter  received  them :  the  mother  only  cas 
ually  appearing,  a  shy  and  dignified  figure  in  the 
background.  At  a  later  period,  after  his  death, 
Margaret  Fuller  and  her  mother  became  all-in-all 
to  each  other,  but  at  this  early  period  the  tie  be 
tween  them,  though  affectionate,  was  not  inti 
mate  ;  for  almost  all  purposes  of  direction  and 
guidance  she  was  her  father's  child. 

Margaret  Fuller's  personal  appearance  at  this 
early  period  has  been  described  by  several  of  her 
biographers ;  but  one  hears  very  different  accounts 
of  it  from  different  quarters,  the  least  flattering 
being  those  given  by  her  own  sex.  The  inexora 
ble  memory  of  a  certain  venerable  Cambridge  lady 
recalls  her  graphically  as  she  appeared  at  the  ball 
given  by  her  father  to  President  Adams  ;  a  young 
girl  of  sixteen  with  a  very  plain  face,  half-shut 
eyes,  and  hair  curled  all  over  her  head  ;  she  was 
laced  so  tightly,  my  informant  declares,  by  reason 
of  stoutness,  that  she  had  to  hold  her  arms  back 
as  if  they  were  pinioned  ;  she  was  dressed  in  a 
badly-cut,  low-necked  pink  silk,  with  white  mus 
lin  over  it ;  and  she  danced  quadrilles  very  awk 
wardly,  being  withal  so  near-sighted  that  she  could 
hardly  see  her  partner.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
maintained  that  she  had  in  childhood  something 
of  her  mother's  peculiar  beauty  of  complexion, 
this  being,  however,  spoiled  at  twelve  years  old 


30  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

By  a  tendency  of  blood  to  the  head,  which  the 
tight-lacing  must  have  assisted.  It  is  also  said 
that  her  eyes  would  have  been  good  had  they  not 
been  injured  by  near-sightedness,  and  that  her  pe 
culiar  smile  had  only  a  passing  effect  of  supercil 
iousness,  and  was  really  kind  and  truthful.  She 
had  what  her  school-mate  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes  de 
scribed  as  •'  a  long  and  flexile  neck,  arching  and 
undulating  in  strange,  sinuous  movements,  which 
one  who  loved  her  would  compare  to  a  swan,  and 
one  who  loved  her  not  to  those  of  the  ophidian 
who  tempted  our  common  mother."  1  Her  hands 
were  smooth  and  white,  and  she  made  such  prom 
inent  use  of  them  that  she  was  charged  by  her 
critics  —  as  was  also  charged  upon  Madame  de 
Staci  in  respect  to  her  arms  —  with  making  the 
most  of  her  only  point  of  beauty. 

The  total  effect  was  undoubtedly  that  of  per 
sonal  plainness  ;  and  the  consciousness  of  this  fact 
was  no  doubt  made  more  vivid  to  her  by  the  tradi 
tions  and  remains  of  her  mother's  beauty,  and  by 
the  fact  that  this  quality  was  transmitted  in  even 
an  enhanced  form  to  her  own  younger  sister  Ellen, 
whom  she  reared  and  educated.  Ellen  Fuller, 
afterwards  the  wife  of  Ellery  Channing,  the  poet, 
was  in  person  and  character  one  of  the  most  at 
tractive  of  women.  She  had  a  Madonna  face,  a 
broad  brow,  exquisite  coloring,  and  the  most  noble 
and  ingenuous  expression,  mingled,  in  her  sister 
Margaret's  phrase,  with  "  the  look  of  an  appeal* 
1  Atlantic  Monthly,  xxiii.  116. 


GIRLHOOD    AT  CAMBRIDGE.  31 

ing  child."  I  knew  her  intimately,  her  husband 
being  my  near  relative,  and  our  households  being 
for  various  reasons  closely  brought  together ;  and 
have  always  considered  her  one  of  the  most  ad 
mirable  women  I  have  ever  had  the  good  fortune 
to  meet.  She  not  only  had  an  active  and  culti 
vated  mind,  and  a  strength  of  character  that  sur 
mounted  some  of  life's  severest  trials,  but  she  was 
as  singularly  gifted  in  the  sphere  of  home  and  so 
cial  life  as  was  her  sister  in  that  of  literature. 
She  instantly  drew  to  her  all  strangers  by  her 
face,  while  her  elder  sister  had  no  such  advantage  ; 
and  though  it  is  certain  that  no  shade  of  jealousy 
ever  came  between  these  high-minded  persons,  it 
was  not  in  human  nature  that  Margaret  Fuller 
should  not  have  felt  her  own  conscious  want  of 
attractions  to  be  enhanced  by  the  contrast. 

As  a  tribute  to  this  fair  sister,  and  also  to  the 
deep  feeling  which  Margaret  Fuller  at  last  learned 
to  cherish  toward  her  father,  I  copy  the  following 
reminiscence  from  a  diary  kept  by  her  many  years 
later :  — 

"I  remembered  our  walking  in  the  garden  avenue, 
between  the  tall  white  lilies  and  Ellen's  apple-tree ;  she 
was  a  lovely  child  then,  and  happy,  but  my  heart  ached, 
and  I  lived  in  just  the  way  I  do  now.  Father  said,  see 
ing  me  at  a  distance,  <  Incedo  regiiia,'  etc.  Poor  Juno  ! 
Father  admired  me,  and,  though  he  caused  me  so  much 
suffering,  had  a  true  sense  at  times  of  what  is  tragic  for 

me.     The  other  day,  when  C was  cutting  a  lock  of 

my  hair  for  one  who  so  little  knows  how  to  value  it,  I 


32  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

thought  of  my  finding  it  in  Father's  desk,  with  all  these 
other  little  tokens.  It  was  a  touching  sight.  Father,  if 
you  hear  me,  know  that  your  daughter  thinks  of  you 
with  the  respect  and  relenting  tenderness  you  deserve. 
Time  has  removed  all  obstructions  to  a  clear  view  of 
what  you  were.  I  am  glad  you  were  withdrawn  from  a 
world  which  had  grown  so  hitter  to  you ;  but  I  wish  we 
might  reach  you  with  our  gentle  thoughts."  * 

Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  which  is  now  a  city 
of  52,000  inhabitants,  had,  at  the  time  of  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  birth,  but  2,323.  When  she  was 
twenty  years  old  it  had  6,072,  divided  between 
three  detached  villages ;  and  was  in  many  respects 
a  very  pleasant  place  in  which  to  be  born  and 
bred.  It  was,  no  doubt,  in  the  current  phrase  of 
to-day,  "  provincial  ; "  in  other  words,  it  was  not 
one  of  the  two  or  three  great  capitals  of  the  civil 
ized  world ;  but  there  are  few  places  in  any  coun 
try  which  bring  together  a  larger  proportion  of 
cultivated  and  agreeable  families  than  must  then 
have  been  found  in  this  quiet  academic  suburb. 
One  could  not  quite  venture  to  say  of  it  as  Stuart 
Newton,  the  painter,  said  of  Boston,  during  a  bril 
liant  London  career  about  that  period,  "  I  meet  in 
London  occasionally  such  society  as  I  met  in  Bos 
ton  all  the  time ; "  but  it  needs  only  to  mention 
some  of  the  men  who  made  Cambridge  what  it 
was,  between  1810  and  1830,  to  show  that  my 
claim  for  the  little  town  is  not  too  high.  Judge 

1  MS.  Diary,  1844.  Mr.  Fuller's  reference  was  to  Virgil's  de» 
scription  of  Juiio,  "Ast  ego  quae  divum  incedo  regina." 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  33 

Story,  whose  reputation  is  still  very  wide,  was 
then  the  head  of  the  law  school,  and  in  the  zenith 
of  his  fame ;  the  all-accomplished  Edward  Everett 
was  Greek  professor ;  English  was  taught  by  Ed 
ward  T.  Channing,  who  certainly  trained  more 
•and  better  authors  than  any  teacher  yet  known 
in  America  ;  George  Ticknor  was  organizing  the 
department  of  modern  languages ;  George  Ban 
croft  was  a  tutor.  The  town  in  which  these  men 
lived  and  taught  may  have  been  provincial  in 
population,  but  it  was  intellectually  metropolitan ; 
where  McGregor  sits,  there  is  the  head  of  the 
table.  Moreover,  by  a  happy  chance,  the  revolu 
tions  of  Europe  were  sending  to  this  country,  about 
that  time,  many  highly  cultivated  Germans  and 
Italians,  of  whom  Harvard  College  had  its  full 
share.  Charles  Follen  taught  German ;  Charles 
Beck,  Latin  ;  Pietro  Bachi,  Italian  ;  Friedrich  Gra 
ter  gave  drawing  lessons.  England,  too,  contrib 
uted  to  the  American  Cambridge  the  most  delight 
ful  of  botanists  and  ornithologists,  —  his  books 
being  still  classics,  —  Thomas  Nuttall.  He  or 
ganized  the  Botanic  Garden  of  the  college,  and 
initiated  the  modern  tendency  toward  the  scien 
tific  side  of  education.  From  some  of  these  men 
Margaret  Fuller  had  direct  instruction ;  but  she 
was,  at  any  rate,  formed  in  a  society  which  was 
itself  formed  by  their  presence. 

And,  since  young  people  are  trained  quite  as 
much  by  each  other  as  by  their  elders,  it  was  for 
tunate  that  Margaret  Fuller  found  among  the 

3 


34  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

young  men  who  were  her  contemporaries  some 
companions  well  worth  having.  She  went  into 
society,  as  has  been  seen,  very  early  —  far  too 
early.  The  class  with  which  she  may  be  said  to 
have  danced  through  college  —  to  adopt  Howells's 
phrase  —  was  that  of  1829,  which  has  been  made, 
by  the  wit  and  poetry  of  Holmes,  the  most  emi 
nent  class  that  ever  left  Harvard.  With  Holmes 
she  was  not  especially  intimate,  though  they  had 
been  school-mates ;  but  with  two  of  the  most 
conspicuous  members  of  the  class  —  William 
Henry  Channing  and  James  Freeman  Clarke  — 
she  formed  a  life-long  friendship,  and  they  became 
her  biographers.  Another  of  these  biographers  — 
the  Rev.  Frederick  Henry  Hedge,  her  townsman 
—  knew  her  also  at  this  period,  though  he  had 
already  left  college  and  had  previously  been  ab 
sent  from  Cambridge  for  some  years,  at  a  Ger 
man  gymnasium.  Still  another  associate,  also  of 
the  class  of  1829,  was  her  kinsman,  George  T. 
Davis,  afterwards  well  known  as  a  member  of 
Congress  from  the  Greenfield  (Mass.)  district,  — 
a  man  of  the  world  and  of  brilliant  gifts. 

But  after  all,  the  most  important  part  of  a 
woman's  training  is  that  which  she  obtains  from 
her  own  sex ;  and  since  Margaret  Fuller's  mother 
was  one  of  the  self-effacing  sort,  it  was  fortunate 
for  the  young  girl  that,  by  a  natural  reaction,  she 
sought  feminine  influences  outside  of  her  own 
home.  She  was  one  of  those  maidens  who  form 
passionate  attachments  to  older  women;  and  there 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  35 

was  fortunately  in  Cambridge  at  that  time  a  group 
of  highly  cultivated  ladies,  most  of  whom  belonged 
to  the  college  circle,  and  who  in  turn  won  her  ar 
dent  loyalty.  My  elder  sister  can  well  remember 
this  studious,  self-conscious,  overgrown  girl  as  sit 
ting  at  my  mother's  feet,  covering  her  hands  with 
kisses  and  treasuring  her  every  word.  It  was  the 
same  at  another  time  with  my  aunt,  Miss  Ann 
G.  Storrow,  a  person  of  great  wit  and  mental 
brilliancy ;  the  same  with  Mrs.  J.  W.  Webster, 
a  most  winning  and  lovely  woman,  born  at  the 
Azores  and  bearing  a  tropic  softness  and  sweet 
ness  in  her  manners.  Most  of  these  ladies  were 
too  much  absorbed  in  their  own  duties  to  give 
more  than  a  passing  solicitude  to  this  rather  odd 
and  sometimes  inconvenient  adorer ;  but  she  for 
tunately  encountered  one  friend  who  resolutely 
took  her  in  hand. 

This  lady  was  the  wife  of  the  Harvard  professor 
of  astronomy ;  a  woman  of  uncommon  character 
and  cultivation,  who  had  lived  much  in  Europe, 
and  who,  with  no  children  of  her  own,  did  many 
good  services  for  the  children  of  her  friends.  She 
was  Mrs.  Eliza  Farrar,  or,  as  she  always  preferred 
to  call  herself  on  her  title-pages,  Mrs.  John  Farrar. 
Having  myself  resided  for  some  time  beneath  this 
lady's  roof,  I  can  certify  to  her  strong  and  well- 
balanced  nature,  and  her  resolute  zeal  in  mould 
ing  the  manners  as  well  as  morals  of  the  young. 
She  was  one  of  our  first  and  best  writers  for  chil 
dren  ;  her  "  Young  Lady's  Friend "  was  almost 


d6  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

the  pioneer  manual  of  its  kind  ;  and  her  "  Recol 
lections  of  Seventy  Years"  is  an  admirable  record 
of  a  well-spent  life.  She  was  the  friend  of  Miss 
Martineau  and  others  of  the  ablest  English  women 
of  her  time ;  she  readily  saw  the  remarkable  in 
tellect  of  Margaret  Fuller,  and  also  perceived  the 
defects  of  her  training.  She  undertook  to  mould 
her  externally,  to  make  her  less  abrupt,  less  self- 
asserting,  more  comme  il  faut  in  ideas,  manners, 
and  even  costume.  She  had  her  constantly  at 
her  own  house,  reformed  her  hairdresser,  and  in 
structed  her  dressmaker  ;  took  her  to  make  calls, 
took  her  on  journeys.  Mrs.  Farrar  had,  moreover, 
often  with  her  a  young  kinswoman  who  furnished 
outwardly  and  inwardly  a  cnarming  model,  Miss 
Anna  Barker,  of  New  Orleans,  now  Mrs.  S.  G. 
Ward.  This  lady,  whose  gifts  and  graces  have 
since  won  affectionate  admiration  in  two  conti 
nents,  was  soon  a  warm  friend  of  Margaret  Ful 
ler;  who  had  already  another  friend  of  similar 
attractions  in  Miss  Harriet  Fay,  now  Mrs.  W.  H. 
Greenough,  then  living  in  the  very  next  house  at 
Cambridgeport  and  for  a  time  her  inseparable 
companion.  Dr.  Holmes  has  once  or  twice  re 
ferred  to  this  last  fair  maiden  in  his  writings  as 
"  the  golden  blonde,"  and  describes  vividly  in  his 
"  Cinders  from  the  Ashes  "  the  manner  in  which 
she  won  the  hearts  of  all  the  school-boys.1  One 
of  her  especial  attractions  was  a  head  covered 
with  sunny  curls,  the  free  gift  of  nature  ;  and  it 

1  Atlantic  Monthly,  xxiii.  116. 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  37 

was  believed  by  penetrating  —  that  is,  feminine  — 
observers  that  the  less  facile  ringlets  for  which 
Margaret  Fuller's  hair  was  kept  in  unsightly  curl 
papers  all  the  morning  were  due  to  a  hopeless 
emulation  of  her  lovely  friend.  It  was,  in  short, 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Madame  Recamier  in  a 
school-room.  At  any  rate,  it  is  very  probable 
that  the  early  intimacy  with  these  beautiful  and 
attractive  maidens  had  much  to  do  with  creating 
in  Margaret  Fuller  that  strong  admiration  for 
personal  charms — amounting  almost  to  envy,  but 
never  to  ungenerous  jealousy  —  which  marked  her 
life-time. 

How  ardent  and  how  deep  were  her  emotions 
towards  these  early  friends  can  best  be  seen  from 
this  passage,  which  appears  without  date  in  her 
diary  :  — 

"  I  loved for  a  time  with  as  much  passion  as 

I  was  then  strong  enough  to  feel.  Her  face  was  always 
gleaming  before  me,  her  voice  was  echoing  in  my  ear, 
all  poetic  thoughts  clustered  round  the  dear  image. 
This  love  was  for  me  a  key  which  unlocked  many  a 
treasure  which  I  still  possess ;  it  was  the  carbuncle 
(emblematic  gem !)  which  cast  light  into  many  of  the 
darkest  corners  of  human  nature.  She  loved  me,  too, 
though  not  so  much,  because  her  nature  was  *  less  high, 
less  grave,  less  large,  less  deep  ; '  but  she  loved  more 
tenderly,  less  passionately.  She  loved  me,  for  I  well 
remember  her  suffering  when  she  first  could  feel  my 
faults,  and  knew  one  part  of  the  exquisite  veil  rent 
away."  l 

*  Fuller  MSS.  i.  445. 


38  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Margaret  Fuller's  precocity  and  her  taste  for 
hard  study  naturally  created  for  her  the  reputa 
tion,  among  those  who  did  not  know  her,  of  a 
grave  young  pedant.  Nothing  could  be  wider  of 
the  mark ;  she  was  full  of  sentiment,  began  to 
write  poetry  at  fifteen,  and  produced  some  verses 
at  seventeen  which  her  brother  has  preserved  in 
print ;  verses  mourning,  as  is  the  wont  of  early 
youth,  over  the  flight  of  years  and  life's  freshness 
already  vanished. 

STANZAS. 

WRITTEN  AT  THE  AGE  OF  SEVENTEEN. 


'*  Come,  breath  of  dawn  !  and  o'er  my  temples  play  ; 

Rouse  to  the  draught  of  life  the  wearied  sense  ; 
Fly,  sleep  !  with  thy  sad  phantoms,  far  away  ; 
Let  the  glad  light  scare  those  pale  troublous  shadows  hence ! 


"  I  rise,  and  leaning  from  my  casement  high, 
Feel  from  the  morning  twilight  a  delight ; 
Once  more  youth's  portion,  hope,  lights  up  my  eye, 
And  for  a  moment  I  forget  the  sorrows  of  the  night. 

in. 

"  O  glorious  morn !  how  great  is  yet  thy  power ! 

Yet  how  unlike  to  that  which  once  I  knew, 
When,  plumed  with  glittering  thoughts,  my  soul  would  soar, 
And  pleasures  visited  my  heart  like  daily  dew  ! 

IV. 

"  Gone  is  life's  primal  freshness  all  too  soon  ; 

For  me  the  dream  is  vanished  ere  my  time ; 
I  feel  the  heat  and  weariness  of  noon, 
And  long  in  night's  cool  shadows  to  recline."  l 

1  Life  Without  and  Within,  p.  370. 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  39 

When  these  moods  passed  by,  she  was  the  gayest 
of  companions,  overflowing  with  wit,  humor,  anec 
dote,  and  only  too  ready  sarcasm.  This  can  best 
be  seen  in  one  of  her  letters  to  the  correspondent 
with  whom  she  was  at  her  gayest,  a  brilliant  and 
attractive  woman  long  since  dead,  the  wife  of 
the  Rev.  D.  H.  Barlow,  of  Lynn,  Mass.,  and  the 
mother  of  General  F.  C.  Barlow.  To  her  Mar 
garet  Fuller  writes  thus,  with  girlish  exuberance, 
at  the  age  of  twenty ;  fully  recognizing,  as  the 
closing  words  show,  the  ordeal  of  criticism  through 
which  she  often  had  to  make  her  way :  — 

"CAMBRIDGE,  November  19,  1830. 

..."  Many  things  have  happened  since  I  echoed 
your  farewell  laugh.  Elizabeth  [Randall]  and  I  have 
been  fully  occupied.  She  has  cried  a  great  deal,  painted 
a  good  deal,  and  played  the  harp  most  of  all.  I  have 
neither  fertilized  the  earth  with  nay  tears,  edified  its  in 
habitants  by  my  delicacy  of  constitution,  nor  wakened  its 
echoes  to  my  harmony  ;  yet  some  things  have  I  achieved 
in  my  own  soft  feminine  style.  I  hate  glare,  thou 
knowest,  and  have  hitherto  successfully  screened  my 
virtues  therefrom.  I  have  made  several  garments  fitted 
for  the  wear  of  American  youth ;  I  have  written  six 
letters,  and  received  a  correspondent  number  ;  I  have 
read  one  book,  —  a  piece  of  poetry  entitled,  '  Two  Ago 
nies,'  by  M.  A.  Browne,  (pretty  caption,  is  it  not  ?)  —  and 
J.  J.  Knapp's  trial ;  I  have  given  advice  twenty  times,  — 
I  have  taken  it  once ;  I  have  gained  two  friends  and  re* 
covered  two  ;  I  have  felt  admiration  four  times,  honor 
once,  and  disgust  twice ;  I  have  been  a  journey,  and 


40  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLT. 

showed  my  penetration  in  discovering  the  beauties  of 
Nature  through  a  thick  and  never-lifted  shroud  of  rain  ; 
I  have  turned  two  new  leaves  in  the  book  of  human  na 
ture  ;  I  have  got  a  new  pink  bag  (beautiful !).  I  have 
imposed  on  the  world,  time  and  again,  by  describing  your 
Lynn  life  as  the  perfection  of  human  felicity,  and  adorn 
ing  my  visit  there  with  all  sorts  of  impossible  adven 
tures,  —  thus  at  once  exhibiting  my  own  rich  invention 
and  the  credulous  ignorance  of  my  auditors  (light  and 
dark,  you  know,  dear,  give  life  to  a  picture)  ;  I  have 
had  tears  for  others'  woes,  and  patience  for  my  own,  — 
in  short,  to  climax  this  journal  of  many-colored  deeds 
and  chances,  so  well  have  I  played  my  part,  that  in  the 
self-same  night  I  was  styled  by  two  several  persons,  *  a 
sprightly  young  lady,'  and  *  a  Syren  ! ! '  Oh  rapturous 
sound  !  I  have  reached  the  goal  of  my  ambition.  Earth 
has  nothing  fairer  or  brighter  to  offer.  '  Intelligency  ' 
was  nothing  to  it.  A  *  supercilious,'  *  satirical,'  *  af 
fected,'  *  pedantic,'  '  Syren ' !  !  !  !  Can  the  olla  podrida 
of  human  nature  present  a  compound  of  more  varied 
ingredients,  or  higher  gusto?"  l  .  .  . 

At  the  beginning  of  1833  she  wrote  as  follows  in 
her  diary,  looking  forward  to  an  uneventful  year. 
She  was  at  tins  time  living  in  what  was  then  a 
picturesque  old  house,  now  shorn  of  part  of  its 
amplitude  and  of  its  superb  row  of  great  linden 
trees,  —  the  Brattle  House  on  Brattle  Street, 
Cambridge.  The  great  buildings  of  the  Univer 
sity  Press  now  cover  the  ground  once  laid  out  in 
formal  old -fashioned  gardens,  with  fish  ponds, 
bridges,  and  spring-bouses,  every  inch  of  which 
i  Fuller  MSS.  i.  1. 


GIRLHOOD  AT  CAMBRIDGE.  41 

was  once  familiar  to  me  as  I  played  there  with 
the  younger  Fullers,  little  dreaming  that  I  should 
ever  be  the  biographer  of  the  staid  elder  sister 
who  sat,  book  in  hand,  beneath  the  doorway,  or 
perhaps  wrote  at  the  window  this  passage  in  her 
diary,  by  way  of  forecast  of  the  immediate  fu 
ture  :  — 

"  I  have  settled  the  occupations  of  the  coming  six 
months.  Some  duties  come  first,  —  to  parents,  brothers, 
and  sisters,  —  but  these  will  not  consume  above  one 
sixth  of  the  time  :  the  family  is  so  small  now,  mother 
will  have  little  need  of  my  sewing :  we  shall  probably 
see  very  little  company.  The  visits  required  of  me  by 
civility  will  be  few.  When  the  Farrars  return,  I  hope 
to  see  them  frequently,  and  E.  Woodward  I  may  pos 
sibly  know,  if  she  comes.  But  I  shall  not,  of  free-will, 
look  out  of  doors  for  a  moment's  pleasure.  I  shall 
have  no  one  to  stay  here  for  any  time  except  E.  I 
love  her,  and  she  is  never  in  the  way.  All  hopes  of 
traveling  I  have  dismissed.  All  youthful  hopes,  of 
every  kind,  I  have  pushed  from  my  thoughts.  I  will 
not,  if  I  can  help  it,  lose  an  hour  in  castle-building  and 
repining,  —  too  much  of  that  already.  I  have  now  a 
pursuit  of  immediate  importance:  to  the  German  lan 
guage  and  literature  I  will  give  my  undivided  attention. 
I  have  made  rapid  progress  for  one  quite  unassisted.  I 
have  always  hitherto  been  too  constantly  distracted  by 
childish  feelings  to  acquire  anything  properly,  but  have 
snatched  a  little  here  and  there  to  feed  my  restless  fancy 
therewith.  Please  God  now  to  keep  my  mind  com 
posed,  that  I  may  store  it  with  all  that  may  he  here 
after  conducive  to  the  best  good  of  others.  Oh,  keep 


42  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

me  steady  in  an  honorable  ambition  ;  favored  by  this 
calm,  this  obscurity  of  life,  I  might  learn  everything, 
did  not  feeling  lavish  away  my  strength.  Let  it  be  no 
longer  thus.  Teach  me  to  think  justly  and  act  firmly. 
Stifle  in  my  breast  those  feelings  which,  pouring  forth 
so  aimlessly,  did  indeed  water  but  the  desert,  and  offend 
the  sun's  clear  eye  by  producing  weeds  of  rank  luxuri 
ance.  Thou  art  my  only  Friend !  Thou  hast  not  seen 
fit  to  interpose  one  feeling,  understanding  breast  be 
tween  me  and  a  rude,  woful  world.  Vouchsafe  then 
thy  protection,  that  I  may  hold  on  in  courage  of  soul !  " 1 

Before  midsummer  it  had  been  decided  that  the 
family  should  remove  to  Groton,  and  we  find  her 
writing  from  that  village,  July  4, 1833. 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  409.     She  was  reading  Shelley  at  this  time, 
and  in  his  early  poem  On  Death  occur  the  lines  :  — 

"  0  man,  hold  thee  on  in  courage  of  soul 
Through  the  stormy  shades  of  thy  worldly  way." 


IV. 

COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GKOTON. 
(1833-1836.) 

IN  removing  with  her  family  to  Groton,  a 
village  nearly  forty  miles  from  Boston,  and  then 
rather  difficult  of  access, —  for  this  was  long  before 
the  building  of  the  Fitchburg  Railroad,  —  Marga 
ret  Fuller  felt  a  natural  depression.  If  even  the 
Boston  of  those  days  afforded  but  a  limited  supply 
of  books  and  intellectual  companionship,  what 
would  Groton  offer  ?  She  gave  up  Cambridge 
with  its  youthful  society  on  one  side,  Boston  with 
its  books  on  the  other ;  and  this  for  a  young  woman 
of  twenty-three,  overflowing  with  energy  and  am 
bition,  was  quite  a  trial.  She  saw  in  advance  what 
it  would  be,  and  she  found  what  she  expected. 
But  her  letters  are  enough  to  show  that  her  mind 
was  still  actively  employed ;  and  that  a  life  more 
wholly  rural  gave  a  new  and  strong  development 
to  her  love  of  out-door  nature. 

She  wrote  to  Dr.  Hedge  from  Groton,  July  4, 
1833  :— 

"I  highly  enjoy  being  surrounded  with  new  and 
beautiful  natural  objects.  My  eyes  and  my  soul  were 


44  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

so  weary  of  Cambridge  scenery,  my  heart  would  not 
give  access  to  a  summer  feeling  there.  The  evenings 
lately  have  been  those  of  Paradise,  and  I  have  been 
very  happy  in  them.  The  people  here  are  much  more 
agreeable  than  in  most  country  towns ;  there  is  no  vul 
garity  of  manners,  but  little  of  feeling,  and  I  hear  no 
gossip."  * 

Again  she  writes  to  him  that  she  keeps  "  Uh- 
land's  poems  for  some  still  and  lovely  afternoon," 
and  there  is  henceforth  a  blending  of  natural  ob 
jects  with  literature  and  art  in  all  she  writes. 

Cordial  letters  from  her  friends  also  removed 
the  natural  dread  of  dropping  out  from  her  old 
circle,  and  finding  herself  not  missed.  In  the 
same  note  to  Dr.  Hedge  she  wrote  thus :  — 

"  Your  letter  was  very  grateful  to  me,  and  I  confess  I 
had  not  expected  such  a  token  of  remembrance.  Since 
I  came  here  I  have  had  much  reason  to  believe  that 
there  exists  more  warmth  of  feeling  in  the  little  world 
wherein  I  have  been  living  than  I  had  supposed.  I 
expected  that  my  place  would  immediately  be  filled 
by  some  person  "  about  my  age  and  height."  I  have  not 
found  it  so.  My  former  intimates  sigh  at  least,  if  they 
do  not  pine,  for  my  society." 

In  Groton  she  read  profusely,  borrowing  her 
books  chiefly  from  Dr.  Hedge,  then,  as  always,  a 
fountain  of  knowledge  in  the  way  of  German. 
It  was  a  period,  we  must  remember,  when  the 
mere  perusal  of  German  books  was  considered 
i  MS. 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROTON.  45 

dangerous ;  and  even  Mrs.  Farrar  records  in  her 
"  Recollections  "  the  pious  but  extraordinary  sus 
picion  that  Harriet  Martineau's  final  materialism 
was  due  to  her  early  study  of  Kant.  Margaret 
Fuller  wrote  at  twenty-three,  "  I  have  with  me 
those  works  of  Goethe  which  I  have  not  read  and 
am  now  perusing,  '  Kunst  und  Alterthurn '  and 
4  Campagne  in  Frankreich.'  I  still  prefer  reading 
Goethe  to  anybody,  and,  as  I  proceed,  find  more 
and  more  to  learn."  1 

She  read  also  at  this  time  Uhland,  Novalis, 
Tieck,  and  some  volumes  of  Richter.  She  dipped 
a  good  deal  into  theology  and  read  Eichhorn  and 
Jahn  in  the  original.  She  was  considering  what 
were  then  called  "  the  evidences  of  Christianity," 
and  wrote  to  Dr.  Hedge  that  she  had  doubted  the 
providence  of  God,  but  not  the  immortality  of  the 
soul.  During  the  few  years  following  she  studied 
architecture,  being  moved  to  it  by  what  she  had 
read  in  Goethe ;  she  also  read  Herschel's  "  As 
tronomy,"  recommended  to  her  by  Professor 
Farrar;  read  in  Schiller,  Heine,  Alfieri,  Bacon, 
Madame  de  Stael,  Wordsworth,  and  Southey ; 
with  "  Sartor  Resartus  "  and  some  of  Carlyle's 
shorter  essays ;  besides  a  good  deal  of  European 
and  American  history,  including  all  Jefferson's 
letters.  Mr.  Emerson  says  justly  that  her  read 
ing  at  Groton  was  at  a  rate  like  Gibbon's. 

All  this  continuous  study  was  not  the  easy 
amusement  of  a  young  lady  of  leisure  ;  but  it  was 
1  MS.  letter  to  Dr.  Hedge,  July  4,  1833. 


46  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

accomplished  under  such  difficulties  and  preoccu 
pations  that  every  book  might  almost  be  said  to 
have  cost  her  a  drop  of  life-blood.  "  Teaching 
little  Fullers,"  as  she  called  it,  occupied  much 
of  her  time ;  she  had  the  sewing  of  four  children 
also  on  her  hands ;  her  mother  was  often  ill,  her 
grandmother  always ;  often  they  had  no  domes 
tic  ;  and  she  sometimes  had  pupils  not  of  her  own 
family.  Three  evenings  in  the  week  and  odd 
hours  during  the  day  were  all  that  this  omnivo 
rous  student  could  command  for  herself.  She 
worked  herself  ill  at  last,  desperately  ill ;  her  life 
was  saved  with  difficulty;  and  her  father  spoke 
to  her,  as  she  came  back  to  life,  such  words  of 
praise  as  his  reticent  lips  had  never  before  ut 
tered.  From  this  time  the  relation  between  her 
and  her  father  grew  tenderer,  and  that  with  her 
mother  more  intimate. 

The  earliest  specimen  of  Margaret  Fuller's 
composition,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  is  a  single 
school  exercise,  corrected  by  her  father  and  pre 
served  by  her  for  the  sake  of  those  corrections. 
It  is  upon  the  Latin  motto,  "  Possunt  quia  posse 
videntur,"  and  it  certainly  has  the  vigor  of  the 
Roman  temperament  that  she  loved.  It  was 
written  probably  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and 
sixteen,  and  her  father's  few  corrections  are  all 
in  the  direction  of  terseness  and  strength.  The 
position  she  takes  is  that  while  men  can,  up  to  a 
certain  point,  do  what  they  will  to  do,  they  are 
yet  so  liable  to  be  overruled  by  the  pressure  of 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROWN.  47 

events  that  the  only  thing  surely  moulded  by 
their  efforts  is  their  own  character.  This  she 
thus  illustrates :  — 

"  Leonidas  saved  his  country  by  a  strong  exertion  of 
will,  inspired  by  the  most  generous  sentiment.  Brutus 
nerved  his  soul  to  break  those  ties  most  sacred  to  one 
like  him  —  and  failed.  Resolved,  united  hearts,  freed 
America.  The  strongest  exertion,  the  most  generous 
concentration  of  will,  for  a  similar  purpose,  left  Poland 
in  blood  and  chains  at  the  feet  of  a  tyrant."  l 

Her  conclusion  is  that,  although  all  outward 
results  may  fail,  "  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  circum 
stance  to  prevent  the  earnest  will  from  shaping 
round  itself  the  character  of  a  great,  a  wise,  or  a 
good  man."  It  was  strong  meat,  surely,  for  a 
young  girl  to  be  feeding  on  such  thoughts  as 
these ;  such  is  not  the  diet  on  which  mere  senti 
mentalists  and  dreamers  are  reared. 

It  is  a  striking  fact  in  the  development  of  her 
mind,  that  when  we  next  find  her  writing  some 
thing  to  please  her  father,  she  is  still  harping  on 
Brutus.  The  first  composition  ever  published  by 
her,  so  far  as  I  know,  was  in  the  "  Daily  Adver 
tiser,"  in  1834.  She  had  wished  during  the  pre 
vious  autumn  to  print  her  translation  of  Goethe's 
"  Tasso,"  but  had  failed ;  and  this  newspaper 
communication  was  called  forth  by  something 
written  by  George  Bancroft.  In  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Hedge  (March  6,  1835),  she  thus  describes  the 
occurrence :  — 

i  Fuller  MSS.  il  249. 


48  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

"Your  ci-devant  tutor,  Mr.  Bancroft,  has  been  deliv 
ering  a  curious  (as  we  say  in  Groton)  address  at  Deer- 
field.  If  I  thought  you  would  care  for  it  I  would  send 
you  the  account  in  Cousin  George's  paper.  My  father 
requested  me  to  write  a  little  piece  in  answer  to  Mr. 
B.'s  attack  on  Brutus  in  the  'North  American  Review,' 
which  he  published  in  the  i  Daily  Advertiser  '  some  time 
since.  It  was  responded  to  (I  flatter  myself  by  some 
big-wig)  from  Salem.  He  detected  some  ignorance  in 
me ;  nevertheless,  as  he  remarked  that  I  wrote  with 
*  ability,'  and  seemed  to  consider  me  as  an  elderly  gen 
tleman,  /  considered  the  affair  as  highly  flattering,  and 
beg  you  will  keep  it  in  mind  and  furnish  it  for  my 
memoirs  as  such  after  I  am  dead."  1 

Mr.  Bancroft's  paper  on  "  Slavery  in  Rome " 
appeared  in  the  "  North  American  Review  "  for 
October,  1834,2  and  contained  a  very  low  esti 
mate  of  Brutus.  For  some  reason,  although  this 
number  of  the  review  was  then  considered  impor 
tant  enough  to  be  elaborately  criticised  in  several 
successive  issues  of  the  "  Advertiser,"  yet  the  in 
dignation  of  Mr.  Fuller  and  his  daughter  was 
not  brought  to  bear  until  nearly  two  months  had 
passed.  On  November  27,  however,  —  Miss  Ful- 
'  ler  being  then  twenty-four,  —  there  appeared  in 
the  leading  Boston  journal  a  communication  in 
small  print,  signed  "  J."  and  filling  nearly  a  col 
umn.  It  handled  Mr.  Bancroft  firmly  though  re 
spectfully,  but  disputed  his  view  in  regard  to  Bru 
tus,  and  showed  a  good  deal  of  care  in  consulting 
1  MS.  2  xxxix.  413. 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROWN.  49 

original  authorities.  Plutarch  was  largely  quoted, 
in  an  English  version,  and  Velleius  Paterculus  in 
the  original  Latin,  —  one  extract  filling  five  lines. 
Upon  these  grounds  the  writer  defends  Brutus 
successively  from  the  charges  of  sycophancy,  time 
serving,  cruelty,  and  avarice ;  and  modestly  adds : 
"  I  doubt  not  an  infinity  of  similar  authorities 
might  be  quoted  by  one  of  more  extensive  read 
ing  and  accurate  memory."  The  conclusion  is  the 
only  part  that  can  be  called  ambitious  in  tone,  but 
it  is  written  with  a  wholly  generous  fervor,  and 
without  conceit :  — 

"  The  hearts  of  the  dead  are  now  tranquillized.  .  .  . 
But  the  faith  of  the  young  bleeds,  and  young  ambition 
droops  when  the  shades  of  the  just  are  summoned  back 
from  the  Elysium  to  which  their  appropriate  judges  had 
consigned  them,  and  appear  before  some  revolutionary 
tribunal  of  modern  date.  Let  us  not  be  too  hasty  in 
questioning  what  is  established,  and  tearing  to  pieces  the 
archives  of  the  past.  There  are  other  sorts  of  skepti 
cism,  and  not  less  desolating  in  their  tendencies,  than 
that  of  religion.  That  keen  observer,  Dr.  Spurzheim, 
warned  the  people  of  this  country  that  their  great  dan 
ger  lay  in  want  of  reverence.  Those  most  distinguished 
among  us  for  talent  and  culture  should  rather  check 
than  encourage  this  delay."  1 

For  one  who  was  to  help  in  organizing,  six 
years  later,  the  most  formidable  party  of  literary 
iconoclasts  yet  brought  together  in  America,  this 
was  beginning  pretty  well.  The  protest  closes 

1  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  November  27,  1834. 


50  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

with  courteous  expressions  toward  "  the  accom 
plished  gentleman  said  to  be  the  author  of  the 
article  in  question  ; "  and  the  only  thing  about  the 
whole  communication  that  suggests  a  woman's 
pen  is  the  delicate  adroitness  with  which  she 
turns  against  Mr.  Bancroft,  in  closing,  two  lines 
from  one  of  his  own  juvenile  effusions :  — 

"  Was  it  for  this  that  Brutus  left  a  name 
Bright  with  the  beams  of  freedom's  holiest  flame  * " 

A  few  days  later,  Mr.  Bancroft  found  a  defender, 
as  Miss  Fuller  indicates,  in  a  correspondent  sign 
ing  "  H.,"  and  giving  Salem  as  his  residence.  He 
in  turn  is  courteous  and  complimentary,  —  prob 
ably  not  being  at  all  aware  that  it  is  a  young 
woman  of  twenty-four  to  whom  he  is  replying,  — 
and  says  of  the  first  communication  that  it  is 
written  "  with  ability  and  candor,  but  I  think 
without  fully  investigating  the  subject."  Never 
theless,  as  he  can  only  cite  Gibbon  and  Middle- 
ton's  Cicero,  while  she  had  brought  up  Plutarch 
and  Velleius  Paterculus,  the  heavier  ordnance  was 
certainly  with  the  defender  of  Brutus.  But  it 
was  quite  a  triumph  to  be  gravely  answered ;  and 
the  father  and  daughter  in  that  quiet  Groton 
farm-house  must  have  taken  great  delight  in  cut 
ting  out  for  preservation  those  two  momentous 
extracts  from  the  "  Daily  Advertiser." 

It  often  happens  that  young  people,  when  ban 
ished  from  society  to  what  seems  solitude,  find 
compensation  in  being  anew  introduced  to  parents, 
brothers,  and  sisters.  This  was  eminently  true  of 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROT  ON.  51 

Margaret  Fuller.  To  be  sure,  her  brother  Eu 
gene,  who  was  her  nearest  companion,  was  now 
absent.  "  Eugene  and  I,"  she  writes  in  a  later 
diary,  "  were  near  of  an  age,  and  loved  to  wander 
out  together,  over  the  streams  and  through  the 
woods,  walking  and  talking  or  oftener  silent."  1 
Eugene  Fuller  was  not  the  most  intellectual  of 
her  brothers,  but  the  most  winning  and  attract 
ive  ;  he  had  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1834,  and 
was  at  this  time  private  tutor  at  the  plantation 
of  my  uncle,  Colonel  Samuel  Storrow,  at  Farley, 
Culpeper  County,  Virginia.  This  explains  an  al 
lusion  in  the  following  letter,  written  by  Margaret 
Fuller  to  her  father  during  a  temporary  visit  in 
Cambridge,  —  which  I  give  to  show  how  cordial 
a  tie  really  united  them,  in  spite  of  her  criticisms. 
The  "  dearest  "  and  "  most  affectionate  "  mean  a 
good  deal. 

"BOSTON,  June,  2,  1835. 

"DEAREST  FATHER,  —  I  was  very  glad  to  receive 
your  letter  although  't  was  but  brief.  You  have  of  late 
omitted  to  write  to  me  when  I  was  absent,  and  I  have 
felt  as  if  you  thought  of  me  less  than  I  wished  you 
should. 

"I  have  been  passing  ten  days  at  Cambridge,  with 
Mrs.  Farrar,  and  indeed  they  were  most  happy.  Every 
body  so  kind,  the  country  so  beautiful,  and  my  own 
spirits  so  light.  We  made  little  excursions  almost 
every  day.  Last  Thursday  I  rode  twenty-two  miles  on 
horseback  without  any  fatigue.  Mrs.  F.  had  a  most 
agreeable  party  the  day  before  I  came  away.  But  of 
i  MS.  Diary,  1844. 


52  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

all  these  things,  Ellen  will  give  you  the  particulars,  if 
you  are  interested  to  hear  them.  The  Higginsons  say 
that  Eugene's  pupils  love  him  extremely,  and  that 
Colonel  Storrow,  too,  seems  much  pleased  with  him.  I 
think  we  ought  to  feel  satisfied  that  he  should  secure  so 
much  love  and  esteem  after  five  or  six  months'  close 
scrutiny.  W.  H.  is  still  very  good,  and  as  well-disposed 
as  ever.  They  seem  much  pleased  with  him  at  Avon- 
Place.  He  passed  yesterday  with  us,  —  being  excused 
from  the  store,  as  it  was  Marsylvia's  wedding-day.  I 
believe  it  is  the  first  amusement  he  has  allowed  himself 
since  he  left  us.  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  your  former 
ward,  Thornton  Davis,  while  in  Cambridge,  but  prefer 
giving  you  the  account  viva  voce. 

"And  now  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which  I 
hope,  oh,  I  HOPE  will  give  you  as  much  pleasure  as  it 
does  me.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Farrar  propose  taking  me,  with 
several  other  delightful  persons,  to  Trenton  Falls  this 
summer.  The  plan  is  to  set  out  about  the  20th  of  July, 
go  on  to  New  York,  then  up  the  North  River  to  West 
Point,  —  pass  a  day  there  ;  then  to  Catskill,  —  pass  a 
day  there  ;  then  on  to  Trenton,  and  devote  a  week  to 
that  beautiful  scenery.  I  said  I  had  scarcely  a  doubt 
of  your  consent,  as  you  had  said  several  times  last  win 
ter  you  should  like  to  have  me  take  a  pleasant  journey 
this  summer.  Oh,  I  cannot  describe  the  positive  ec 
stasy  with  which  I  think  of  this  journey !  to  see  the 
North  River  at  last,  and  in  such  society  !  Oh,  do  sym 
pathize  with  me  !  do  feel  about  it  as  I  do  !  The  pos 
itive  expenses  of  the  journey  we  have  computed  at 
forty-seven  dollars  ;  I  shall  want  ten  more  for  spending- 
money,  —  but  you  will  not  think  of  the  money,  will 
you?  I  would  rather  you  would  take  two  hundred 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROWN.  53 

Hollars  from  my  portion,  than  feel  even  the  least  un 
willing.  Will  you  not  write  to  me  immediately,  and 
say  you  love  me,  and  are  very  glad  I  am  to  be  so 
happy  ?  ?  ? 

"  It  was  very  unkind  in  Mr.  Robinson  to  have  Mr. 
Emerson  [preach]  during  my  absence.  I  think  I  shall 
join  Richard  and  Arthur  in  attending  Mr.  Kittredge's 
[church].  I  must  write  a  few  words  to  mother,  so  adieu, 
from  Your  most  affectionate  daughter,  M."  l 

Fathers  are  fortunately  so  constituted  as  rarely 
to  refuse  appeals  like  this,  and  Margaret  Fuller 
had  her  journey.  It  was  her  first  experience  of 
a  pleasure  which  then,  perhaps,  had  a  greater  zest 
than  now,  as  being  rarer,  "and  involving  more  ad 
venture.  She  went  to  Newport,  then  dear  to  her 
as  the  summer  home  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Channing, 
—  to  New  York,  and  to  Trenton  Falls,  accounted 
one  of  the  glories  of  America  in  the  simple  days 
when  the  wonders  of  Colorado  and  the  Yosemite 
Valley  were  unknown.  In  the  autumn  she  met 
Miss  Harriet  Martineau  at  the  house  of  Professor 
Farrar,  and  a  new  delight  opened  before  her  vis 
ion.  It  was  proposed  that  she  should  make  a  voy 
age  to  England  with  the  Farrars ;  and  under  the 
guidance  of  her  kind  friends,  long  resident  in 
England,  she  hoped  to  meet  the  larger  intellect 
ual  circle  of  which  she  had  dreamed.  But  sud 
denly  a  blow  fell  which  crushed  this  hope  and 
brought  the  profoundest  emotions.  Her  father 
was  taken  ill  of  cholera,  September  30,  1835,  and 

i  Fuller  MSS.  i.  153. 


54  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

died  October  1.  His  widow  used  to  tell  the  story, 
to  the  end  of  her  days,  how  Margaret  brought  the 
younger  children  together  around  the  lifeless  form 
of  her  father,  and,  kneeling,  pledged  herself  to 
God  that  if  she  had  ever  been  ungrateful  or  un- 
filial  to  her  father,  she  would  atone  for  it  by 
fidelity  to  her  brothers  and  sisters.  This  vow  she 
surely  kept. 

She  wrote  thus  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Barlow,  after 
her  father's  death :  — 

"GROTON,  February  1,  1836. 

..."  I  returned  into  life  to  bear  a  sorrow  of  which 
you  know  the  heaviness.  But  my  hard-won  faith  has 
not  deserted  me,  and  I  hav.e  so  far  preserved  a  serenity 
which  might  seem  heartlessness  to  a  common  observer. 
It  was  indeed  sad  when  I  went  back,  in  some  sort,  into 
the  world,  and  felt  myself  fatherless.  Yet  I  gave  no 
sign,  and  hope  to  preserve  more  or  less  fortitude."  1 

Her  father  had  made  no  will ;  his  property  was 
sorely  involved,  and  she  has  told  her  keen  regret 
at  that  absence  of  business  education  which  left 
her  unable  to  take  direct  charge  of  the  family 
affairs.  They  were  placed  finally  under  the  care 
of  her  uncle  Abraham,  the  narrowest  and  most 
arbitrary  of  all  the  paternal  race.  The  estate 
was  probably  well  managed,  as  it  finally  yielded 
two  thousand  dollars  to  each  of  the  children  ;  but 
this  success  was  bought  at  a  great  cost  of  dicta 
torial  domineering  on  the  part  of  the  bachelor 
uncle.  —  the  same  man  who  gave  my  mother  les* 

i  Fuller  MSS.  i.  21. 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROTON.  55 

sons  in  darning  stockings,  —  and  there  is  extant 
much  correspondence  which  throws  light  on  this. 
Margaret  Fuller  fought  like  a  lioness  for  the 
proper  education  of  her  younger  brothers  and  sis 
ters,  and  especially  for  Ellen,  whom  the  uncle 
would  evidently  have  brought  up  in  old-fashioned 
feminine  ignorance,  rather  than  let  a  dollar  be 
spent  upon  her  schooling.  The  elder  sister  insisted 
that  she  should  be  sent  to  a  suitable  school,  offer 
ing,  if  necessary,  to  sacrifice  her  own  share  of  the 
family  income,  or  even  of  the  estate  itself,  for  this 
purpose.  Every  New  England  farm-house  has 
been  the  scene  of  some  touching  tale  of  sisterly 
devotion,  but  nowhere  more  genuine  than  in  that 
old  homestead  at  Groton. 

And,  with  other  hopes,  the  dream  of  Europe 
must  go.  Her  family  begged  her  to  take  in  ad 
vance  her  share  of  the  family  property  and  carry 
out  her  purpose  ;  but  she  made,  early  in  1836, 
what  she  called  "  the  last  great  sacrifice,"  and  de 
cided  to  remain.  Feeling  no  immediate  strength, 
as  she  records,  to  carry  out  her  literary  plans,  she 
planned  to  help  her  mother  by  teaching.  "  Cir 
cumstances  have  decided,"  she  wrote,  "  that  I 
must  not  go  to  Europe,  and  shut  upon  me  the 
door,  as  I  think,  forever,  to  the  scenes  I  could 
have  loved.  Let  me  now  try  to  forget  myself  and 
act  for  others'  sakes."  l 

Her  mind  recovered  its  tone,  and  deeper  expe 
rience  gave  her  profounder  sympathy.  During 

1  Memoirs,  i.  161. 


56  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

her  last  summer  in  Groton  she  wrote  this  letter 
to  her  friend  Samuel  G.  Ward,  showing  at  once 
how  external  nature  had  made  her  a  student  and 
observer  of  itself,  and  how  penetrating  and  imag 
inative  were  her  powers  of  mind.  I  know  of  no 
more  delicate  analysis  of  one  of  the  most  recon 
dite  and  elusive  aspects  of  nature. 

"  GROTON,  20th  April,  1 836. 

"You  have  probably  just  received  a  packet  from  me, 
(oh  !  what  wild  work  makes  a  female  pen  !)  yet  I  feel 
tempted  to  scribble  to  you,  my  fellow  votary,  on  the  sub 
ject  of  this  morning's  devotions  to  our  common  shrine. 

"  I  strolled  languidly  far  and  far  over  the  dull-brown 
fields,  and  not  an  attempt  at  a  life-like  tint  could  I  see. 
Some  tawny  evergreens  and  oaks,  with  their  last  year's 
leaves  lingering,  *  like  unloved  guests,'  in  vain  attempted 
to  give  animation  to  the  landscape.  The  sweetest  south 
west  wind  was  blowing,  but  it  did  not  make  the  heavens 
very  blue,  and  was  not  enough  for  me,  who  wanted 
something  to  look  at,  and  had  not  vital  energy  enough 
to  be  made  happy  through  the  pores  of  my  skin.  I  was 
returning  homeward  quite  comfortless  and  ill-paid  for  my 
time  and  trouble,  when  I  suddenly  came  upon  just  what 
I  wanted.  It  was  a  little  shallow  pool  of  the  clearest 
amber.  The  afore-mentioned  southwest  was  at  work  to 
some  purpose,  breaking  it  into  exquisite  wavelets,  which 
flashed  a  myriad  of  diamonds  up  at  each  instant. 

"  Why  is  it  that  the  sight  of  water  stirs  and  fills  the 
mind  so  much  more  than  that  of  any  other  thing  in  na 
ture  ?  —  why  ?  Is  it  that  here  we  see  the  most  subtle 
force  combined  with  the  most  winning  gentleness,  or  the 
most  impetuous  force  with  the  most  irresistible  subtlety? 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROTON.  57 

"  I  used  to  love,  at  Trenton,  to  go  to  that  place  where 
the  water  seemed  collecting  its  energies  so  quietly,  glid 
ing  on  so  stealthily,  you  could  scarcely  believe  it  was 
firmly  resolved  to  display  such  vehemence  in  one  more 
moment  of  time  and  rood  of  space. 

"  I  love  the  force  of  water  much,  but  its  subMety  is 
magic  in  its  effects.  Perfectly  do  I  comprehend  what  I 
have  heard  of  gazers  on  a  river-side  being  tempted  to 
drown  themselves  by  sight  of  the  water,  and  all  those 
tales  of  mermaid  enchantments  which  embody  this  feel 
ing.  This  morning  I  felt  a  sort  of  timidity  about  stand 
ing  quite  at  that  point  to  which  the  undulatory  motions 
(of  all  earthly  things  most  lovely)  seemed  to  tend.  I 
felt  that,  unless  I  had  an  arm  of  flesh  and  blood  to  cling 
to,  I  should  be  too  much  seduced  from  humanity. 

"  These  undulations  I  have  seen  compared  in  poesy 
to  the  heaving  of  the  bosom,  and  they  do  create  a  sim 
ilar  feeling,  —  at  least,  I,  when  I  see  this  in  the  human 
frame,  am  tempted  to  draw  near  with  a  vague,  instinct 
ive  anticipation  (as  far  as  ever  I  could  analyze  the  emo 
tion)  that  a  heart  will  leap  forth,  and  I  be  able  to  take 
it  in  my  hand. 

"  I  dislike  the  comparison,  as  I  always  do  illustrating 
so-called  inanimate  nature  by  man  or  any  shape  of  an 
imal  life.  Byron's  comparisons  of  a  mountain  splendor 
to  the  '  light  of  a  dark  eye  in  woman,'  the  cataract  to 
a  tiger's  leap,  etc.,  displease  my  taste.  Why,  again  ?  I 
am  not  sure  whether  it  is  because  man  seems  more  than 
nature,  or  whether  less,  and  that  the  whole  is  injured  in 
illustrating  it  by  a  part,  or  whether  it  is  that  one  hates 
to  be  forced  back  upon  personalities  when  one  is  getting 
calmed  by  meditations  on  the  elemental  manifestations. 
Yet,  though  these  comparisons  displease  my  taste,  they 


58  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

throw  a  light  on  the  sympathies  between  the  human 
mind  and  nature.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  some  time  attain 
a  precise  notion  of  the  meaning  of  Nature's  most  beau 
tiful  display,  the  undulatory  motion"  J 

Margaret  Fuller  made  great  sacrifices  for  her 
own  household  while  living  in  Groton ;  and  showed 
a  self-devotion  that  undoubtedly  told  severely  on 
her  health.  She  not  only  had  the  courage  to  do 
this,  but  the  courage  to  let  it  be  known  by  those 
for  whom  it  was  done,  when  it  was  best  that  they 
should  know  it.  Feminine  self-sacrifice  is  a  very 
common  fruit  on  every  soil,  and  certainly  on  that 
of  New  England ;  but  it  often  spoils  its  object  by 
leading  to  selfishness  and  then  dying  unrevealed, 
—  all  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty.  To  make 
this  devotion,  by  revealing  it,  a  means  of  elevating 
the  person  for  whom  it  is  made,  —  this  is  a  far 
rarer  thing,  and  requires  absolute  frankness  and  a 
wholly  generous  heart.  To  stimulate  the  brother 
to  do  the  work  which  the  sister  for  his  sake  left 
undone  is  to  extract  the  very  finest  aroma  of  grat 
itude.  He  to  whom  the  following  letter  was  ad 
dressed  —  the  Rev.  Arthur  Fuller  —  did  not  adopt 
that  literary  career  to  which  his  sister  would  fain 
have  led  him  ;  but  his  was  a  life  of  unwearied 
labor  and  great  practical  usefulness ;  and  when, 
after  the  resignation  of  his  army  chaplaincy,  he 
took  a  musket  from  the  hands  of  a  wounded  sol 
dier,  saying,  "  I  must  do  something  for  my  coun 
try,"  and  went  forward  to  his  death  at  the  battle 
i  MS. 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROTON.  59 

of  Fredericksburg,  he  showed  that  his  sister's  in 
fluence  had  not  been  exerted  in  vain. 

"  You  express  gratitude  for  what  I  have  taught  you. 
It  is  in  your  power  to  repay  me  a  hundred-fold,  by 
making  every  exertion  now  to  improve.  I  did  not 
teach  you  as  I  would  ;  yet  I  think  the  confinement  and 
care  I  took  of  you  children,  at  a  time  when  my  mind 
was  so  excited  by  many  painful  feelings,  have  had  a 
very  bad  effect  upon  my  health.  I  do  not  say  this  to 
pain  you,  or  to  make  you  more  grateful  to  me  (for, 
probably,  if  I  had  been  aware  at  the  time  what  I  was 
doing,  I  might  not  have  sacrificed  myself  so) ;  but  I  say 
it  that  you  may  feel  it  your  duty  to  fill  my  place,  and 
do  what  I  may  never  be  permitted  to  do.  Three  pre 
cious  years,  at  the  best  period  of  my  life,  I  gave  all  my 
best  hours  to  you  children  ;  let  me  not  see  you  idle 
away  time,  which  I  have  always  valued  so  much  ;  let 
me  not  find  you  unworthy  of  the  love  I  felt  for  you. 
Those  three  years  would  have  enabled  me  to  make 
great  attainments,  which  now  I  never  may.  Do  you 
make  them  in  my  stead,  that  I  may  not  remember  that 
time  with  sadness."1 

In  another  letter  to  her  younger  brother,  Rich 
ard,  four  years  later,  she  thus  sums  up  their  life 
at  Groton,  and  pictures  the  position  of  the  house 
hold  after  the  father's  death. 

"  Father's  removal  there  was  ill-judged,  at  least  as  re 
garded  himself,  your  mother,  and  myself.  The  younger 
ones  were  not  violently  rent  from  all  their  former  life 
and  cast  on  toils  for  which  they  were  unprepared. 
There  your  mother's  health  was  injured  and  mine  de- 
i  Fuller  MSS.  i.  623. 


60  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

stroyed ;  there  your  father  died,  but  not  till  the  cares  of 
a  narrowed  income,  and  collision  with  his  elder  sons, 
which  would  not  have  ended  there,  had  so  embittered 
his  life  and  made  him  so  over  anxious,  that  I  have 
never  regretted  that  he  did  not  stay  longer  to  watch  the 
turning  of  the  tide  :  for  his  life  up  to  1830  had  been 
one  of  well-earned  prosperity,  which,  after  that  time, 
was  rapidly  ebbing  from  him,  and  I  do  not  think  ad 
versity  would  have  done  him  good;  he  could  not  recon 
cile  himself  to  it ;  his  feeling  was  that  after  thirty  years' 
labor  and  self-denial  he  was  entitled  to  peace,  and  he 
would  not  have  had  it. 

"  You  were  too  young  to  feel  how  trying  are  the 
disorders  of  a  house  which  has  lost  its  head,  the  miser 
able  perplexities  which  were  in  our  affairs,  the  wounds 
your  mother  underwent  in  that  time  of  deep  dejection 
from  the  unfeeling  and  insolent  conduct  of  many  who 
had  been  kept  in  check  by  respect  for  your  father,  her 
loneliness  and  sense  of  unfitness  for  the  new  and  heavy 
burden  of  care.  It  will  be  many  years  yet  before  you 
can  appreciate  the  conflicts  of  my  mind,  as  I  doubted 
whether  to  give  up  all  which  my  heart  desired  for  a 
path  for  which  I  had  no  skill,  and  no  call,  except  that 
some  one  must  tread  it,  and  none  else  was  ready.  The 
Peterborough  hills  and  the  Wachusetts  are  associated 
in  my  mind  with  many  hours  of  anguish,  as  great,  I 
think,  as  I  am  capable  of  feeling.  I  used  to  look  at 
them,  towering  to  the  sky,  and  feel  that  I,  too,  from  my 
birth  had  longed  to  rise,  but  I  felt  crushed  to  earth ;  yet 
again  a  nobler  spirit  said  that  could  never  be ;  the  good 
knight  may  come  forth  scarred  and  maimed  from  the 
unequal  contest,  shorn  of  his  strength  and  unsightly  to 
the  careless  eye,  but  the  same  fire  burns  within  and 


COUNTRY  LIFE  AT  GROTON.  61 

deeper  than  ever,  and  he  may  be  conquered,  but  never 
subdued. 

"  But  if  these  beautiful  hills,  and  wide,  rich  fields 
saw  this  sad  lore  well  learned,  they  also  saw  some 
precious  lessons  given  too,  of  faith,  of  fortitude,  of  self- 
command,  and  of  less  selfish  love.  There,  too,  in  sol 
itude,  heart  and  mind  acquired  more  power  of  concen 
tration,  and  discerned  the  beauty  of  a  stricter  method. 
There  the  heart  was  awakened  to  sympathize  with  the 
ignorant,  to  pity  the  vulgar,  and  hope  for  the  seemingly 
worthless  ;  for  a  need  was  felt  of  realizing  the  only 
reality,  the  divine  soul  of  this  visible  creation,  which 
cannot  err  and  will  not  sleep,  which  cannot  permit  evil 
to  be  permanent  or  its  aim  of  beauty  to  be  eventually 
frustrated  in  the  smallest  particular." l 

Before  these  last  letters  we^e  written,  she  had 
left  Groton,  for  a  time,  and  had  entered  on  the 
life  of  a  teacher,  first  in  Boston  and  then  in  Prov 
idence. 

1  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  721. 


V. 

FINDING  A  FEIEND. 

THE  personal  influence  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emer 
son  was  so  marked,  during  Miss  Fuller's  early  ca 
reer,  that  a  separate  chapter  may  well  be  devoted 
to  delineating  it.  The  first  trace  of  him  that  I 
have  found  among  her  voluminous  papers  is  this 
from  one  of  her  lively  and  girlish  letters  to  Mrs. 
Barlow,  dated  October  6, 1834.  She  describes  an 
interview  with  th$  Rev.  Dr.  Dewey,  who  was, 
with  herself,  a  guest  at  Mrs.  Farrar's  in  Cam 
bridge,  and  adds :  — 

"  He  spoke  with  admiration  of  the  Rev.  W.  Emer 
son,  that  only  clergyman  of  all  possible  clergymen  who 
eludes  my  acquaintance.  But  n'importe!  I  keep  his 
image  bright  in  my  mind."  ] 

Again,  she  writes  to  another  correspondent 
about  the  same  time:  — 

"  I  cannot  care  much  for  preached  elevation  of  senti 
ment  unless  I  have  seen  it  borne  out  by  some  proof,  as 
in  case  of  Mr.  Emerson.  It  is  so  easy  for  a  cultivated 
mind  to  excite  itself  with  that  tone  ! "  2 

More  than  a  month  later  she  writes  to  the  Rev. 
F.  H.  Hedge,  from  Groton  (November  30, 1834), 
1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  17.  *  Fuller  MSS.  iii.  281. 


FINDING  A  FRIEND.  63 

"  With  regard  to  Mr.  Emerson,  I  had  two  reasons,  if 
they  may  deserve  to  be  so  called,  for  wishing  him  to  see 
my  '  Tasso '  [translated  from  Goethe].  It  gratified  me 
that  a  mind  which  had  affected  mine  so  powerfully 
should  be  dwelling  on  something  of  mine,  even  though 
't  were  only  some  new  dress  for  the  thoughts  of  another, 
^.nd  I  thought  he  might  express  something  which  would 
be  useful  to  me.  I  should  like  very  much  his  correction 
as  well  as  yours,  if  it  be  not  too  much  trouble."  * 

This  clearly  shows  how  powerfully  Emerson 
4vas  already  influencing  other  minds  while  lie  was 
Btill  a  clergyman,  and  had  not  printed  a  word  that 
is  now  included  in  his  writings. 

Before  this,  according  to  Mr.  Emerson's  own 
statement,  he  had  heard  Margaret  Fuller  praised 
by  Dr.  Hedge ;  and  he  thinks,  but  is  not  quite 
pure,  that  lie  first  met  her  at  Mrs.  Farrar's  in 
1835.2  In  July,  1836,  she  visited  him  in  Concord. 
He  has  left  a  record,  in  one  of  the  most  graphic 
passages  contributed  by  him  to  her  "  Memoirs,"  of 
impressions  received  from  her  at  this  first  visit.  I 
am  glad  to  be  able  to  place  beside  this  a  compan 
ion  picture  of  her,  during  a  subsequent  visit  —  in 
a  letter  written  by  that  gifted  and  high-minded 
woman,  Elizabeth  Hoar,  of  Concord,  sister  of  the 
judge  and  the  senator  of  that  family,  and  one  of 
the  most  intimate  personal  friends  of  Mr.  Emer 
son.  Miss  Hoar  had  been  betrothed  to  Charles 
Emerson  at  the  time  of  his  early  death,  and  lived 
all  her  subsequent  life  in  the  close  vicinity  of  his 

IMS.  2  Memoirs,  I  201. 


64  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

more  eminent  brother,  to  whom  she  was  as  a 
younger  sister.  Being  a  constant  visitor  at  his 
house,  she  was  at  times  brought  closely  in  contact 
with  Margaret  Fuller,  of  whom  she  thus  records 
her  judgment  in  a  letter  addressed  to  her  friend, 
Miss  H.  L.  Chappell,  of  Southington,  Conn. 

"CONCORD,  Aprils,  1839. 

"  MY  DEAR  HANNAH,  —  Both  your  letters  found  me 
at  Mr.  Emerson's,  but  I  waited  until  I  came  home,  to 
answer  them.  Miss  Fuller  has  been  there  for  a  week 
past,  and  I  have  not  yet  learned  the  art  of  self-regula 
tion  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  do  anything  when  she  is 
near.  I  see  so  few  people  who  are  anything  but 
pictures  or  furniture,  to  me,  that  the  stimulus  of  such 
a  person  is  great  and  overpowering  for  the  time.  And 
indeed,  if  I  saw  all  the  people  whom  I  think  of  as  desir 
able,  and  if  I  could  help  myself,  I  do  not  think  I  should 
abate  any  of  my  interest  in  her.  Her  wit,  her  insight 
into  characters,  —  such  that  she  seems  to  read  them 
aloud  to  you  as  if  they  were  printed  books,  her  wide 
range  of  thought  and  cultivation,  —  the  rapidity  with 
which  she  appropriates  all  knowledge,  joined  with 
habits  of  severe  mental  discipline  (so  rare  in  women, 
and  in  literary  men  not  technically  'men  of  science')  ; 
her  passionate  love  of  all  beauty,  her  sympathy  with 
all  noble  effort ;  then  her  energy  of  character  and  the 
regal  manner  in  which  she  takes  possession  of  society 
wherever  she  is,  and  creates  her  own  circumstances ;  all 
these  things  keep  me  full  of  admiration  —  not  astonished, 
but  pleased  admiration  —  and,  as  genius  does  always 
(vide  R.  W.  E.  on  « Genius'),  inspire  me  with  new  life, 
new  confidence  in  my  own  power,  new  desires  to  fulfill 


FINDING  A  FRIEND.  65 

1  the  possible '  in  myself.  You  would,  perhaps,  have 
an  impression  of  levity,  of  want  of  tenderness,  from 
her  superficial  manner.  The  mean  hindrances  of  life, 
the  mistakes,  the  tedium,  which  eat  into  your  soul,  and 
will  take  no  form  to  you  but  the  tragic,  she  takes  up 
with  her  defying  wit  and  sets  them  down  in  comic 
groups  and  they  cease  to  be  *  respectabilities.'  You 
feel  at  first  as  if  this  included  ridicule  or  disregard  of 
the  sufferings  they  bring  to  you ;  but  not  so.  Her  heart 
is  helpfully  sympathizing  with  all  striving  souls.  And 
she  has  overcome  so  much  extreme  physical  and  mental 
pain,  and  such  disappointments  of  external  fortune,  that 
she  has  a  right  to  play  as  she  will  with  these  arrows 
of  fate.  She  is  a  high-minded  and  generous  servant  of 
Duty,  and  a  Christian  (not  a  traditional  Christian,  not 
made  one  by  authority)  in  her  idea  of  life.  But  this  is 
all  catalogue ;  you  cannot  write  down  Genius,  and  I 
write  it  more  because  I  am  thinking  about  her  than 
from  any  hope  of  doing  her  justice.  Only  her  pres 
ence  can  give  you  the  meaning  of  the  name  Margaret 
Fuller,  and  this  not  once  or  twice,  but  as  various  oc 
casions  bring  out  the  many  sides.  And  her  power  of 
bringing  out  Mr.  Emerson  has  doubled  my  enjoyment 
of  that  blessing  to  be  in  one  house  and  room  with 
him." l 

In  a  fragment  of  diary,  without  date,  all  too 
short,  preserved  among  the  Fuller  papers,  we 
have  a  glimpse  at  these  Concord  interviews  ;  but 
not  at  the  very  outset ;  rather,  after  time  had 
mellowed  the  companionship  and  made  it  less  ex 
citing,  but  more  wholly  unconscious.  In  describ- 

i  MS. 


66  MARGARET  FULLER  08SOLL 

ing  a  long  walk  by  Walden  Pond,  Margaret  Fuller 
says  of  Mr.  Emerson,  "  He  is  a  much  better  com 
panion  than  formerly,  —  for  once  he  would  talk 
obstinately  through  the  walk,  but  now  we  can  be 
silent  and  see  things  together."  l 

In  another  place  she  gives  this  striking  glimpse 
of  his  personal  appearance :  "  It  was  raining  hard 
and  quite  cold  —  he  had  on  his  blue  cloak,  falling 
in  large  straight  folds  ;  in  that  he  looks  as  if  he 
had  come  to  his  immortality  as  a  statue."  2 

Elsewhere  she  describes  him  as  reading  to  her 
passages  of  his  poetry,  and  quotes  some  lines 
which  I  am  unable  to  identify,  while  others  appear 
in  the  appendix  to  the  edition  just  published :  — 

"  Waldo  and  I  have  good  meetings,  though  we  stop 
at  all  our  old  places.  But  my  expectations  are  moder 
ate  now ;  it  is  his  beautiful  presence  that  I  prize,  far 
more  than  our  intercourse.  He  has  been  reading  me 
his  new  poems  and  the  others.  At  the  end  he  asked  me 
how  I  liked  the  '  little  subjective  twinkle  all  through.' 
He  has  indeed  set  off  the  picture  lively. 

*  Lonely  he  sat,  the  men  were  strange, 

The  women  all  forbidden.' 
And, 

'  Merge  me  in  the  brute  universe 

Or  lift  to  some  diviner  dream/ 
And, 

'  His  loves  were  sharp,  sharp  pains/ 
A-nd, 

'  Content  with  gods  or  fools  to  live/ 

'  In  the  resolves  of  [fate  ?]  I  acquiesce/ 
'  Gentle  Saadi,  mind  thy  rhyme/ 
*  Fuller  MSS.  iii.  165.  2  Fuller  MSS.  iii.  183. 


FINDING  A  FRIEND.  67 

"  And  that  he  will  no  more  plague  himself  with  the 
mysteries  of  another  sphere  from  his."  l 

Her  visits  to  Concord  not  only  established  in 
timacy  with  Mr.  Emerson,  but  with  all  the  mem 
bers  of  his  family.  She  writes  to  her  mother, 
during  her  first  visit,  "  The  baby  here  is  beautiful. 
...  I  play  with  him  a  good  deal  and  he  comes 
so  natural  after  Dante  and  other  poems."  2  The 
cordial  gayety  of  all  her  interchange  of  messages 
in  her  letters  to  the  Concord  household  shows 
clearly  the  friendliness  of  her  relations  with  alL 
"  Good  love  to  Mrs.  Emerson :  I  hope  the  baby 
has  not  grown  too  large  for  me  to  hold."  Then 
in  another  letter,  "  What  does  Waldo  say  ?  and 
what  has  Ellen  learnt?"  and  again,  "Say  to  little 
Waldo  that  I  have  thought  since  I  came  away  of 
a  hundred  witty  things  I  forgot  to  say  to  him,  and 
he  must  want  to  see  me  again."  In  her  diary  she 
has  much  to  say  of  this  remarkable  child,  who  will 
always  have  an  interest  for  all  lovers  of  poetry 
as  having  occasioned  Emerson's  "  Threnody." 

It  has  been  my  privilege  to  examine  a  long 
series  of  unpublished  letters  that  passed  thencefor 
ward  from  Margaret  Fuller  to  Emerson.  Franker 
and  truer  letters  never  went  from  woman  to  man ; 
they  were  written  under  all  circumstances  and 
from  all  places ;  in  one  case  from  his  own  library, 
while  he  was  away.  How  much  Mr.  Emerson 
valued  them  is  plain  from  the  fact  that  in  some 
cases  where  a  letter  is  missing  there  is  substituted 

l  Fuller  MSS,  iii.  175,  176.  *  Fuller  MSS.  i.  83. 


68  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

a  copy  in  his  handwriting.  All  are  indorsed  by 
him  in  his  systematic  way,  with  date  and  theme, 
and  at  first  with  the  name  "  Miss  S.  M.  Fuller ;  " 
then  the  more  familiar  "  Margaret  Fuller  "  takes 
its  place.  She  in  turn,  beginning  with  remote 
and  reverential  phrases,  grows  gradually  more  in 
timate.  In  the  first  letter  I  have  seen  (Septem 
ber,  1836),  she  writes  meekly  from  Boston,  "  My 
dear  friend,  —  I  may  venture  to  say  so,  since  you 
have  subscribed  yourself  my  friend,"  —  but  in  a 
year  or  two  it  becomes  "  Dear  Waldo,"  at  least. 
In  this  first  letter  there  is  a  phrase  which  shows 
the  honest  beginning  of  their  friendship :  "  While 
I  was  with  you,"  she  says,  "  you  very  justly  cor 
rected  rne  for  using  too  strong  expressions  on 
some  subject.  But  there  is  no  exaggeration  in 
saying  —  I  must  be  allowed  to  say  —  that  I  de 
test  Mr.  Robinson  at  this  time," —  he  being  her 
Groton  pastor  who  had  twice  invited  Mr.  Emerson 
to  preach  there  while  she  was  away  from  home. 
In  this  same  letter  she  speaks  of  "  Nature,"  then 
just  published,  which  he  had  sent  her,  and  which 
she  and  Miss  Anna  Barker  had  also  mutually  pre 
sented  to  each  other.  To  "  show  Anna  to  Mr. 
Emerson  "  was  just  then  one  of  her  strong  desires. 
Soon  the  borrowing  of  books  becomes  a  con 
stant  theme.  On  April  11,  1837,  she  returns  him 
Goethe's  letters  to  Merck  and  the  first  two  vol 
umes  of  those  to  Zelter,  and  writes,  "  I  look  to  Con 
cord  as  my  Lethe  arid  Eunoe  after  this  purgatory 
of  distracting  petty  tasks.  I  am  sure  you  will 


FINDING  A  FRIEND.  69 

purify  and  strengthen  me  to  enter  the  Paradise  of 
thought  once  more."  In  addressing  Mrs.  Emer 
son  she  sends  "  dear  love  to  the  sainted  Lidian," 
—  who  becomes  simply  Lidian  in  later  messages. 
44  Mrs.  Emerson  does  not  love  me,"  she  says  in 
one  place,  44  more  than  I  love  her." 

On  May  30, 1837,  she  returns  to  Emerson,  Cole 
ridge's  4<  Literary  Remains,"  which  she  has  "  ran 
sacked  pretty  thoroughly,"  and  44  The  Friend," 
with  which  she  44  should  never  have  done  ;  "  also 
a  volume  of  Goethe  and  one  of  Scougal,  and  she 
asks  him  on  the  outside  of  the  note  what  these 
two  worthies  will  be  likely  to  say  to  one  another 
44  as  they  journey  side  by  side."  She  begs  to 
keep  for  summer  two  volumes  of  Milton,  two  of 
Degerando,  the  seventh  and  eighth  of  Goethe's 
44  Nachgelassene  Werke,"  besides  one  volume  of 
Jonson  and  one  of  Plutarch's  44  Morals."  She 
also  subscribes  for  two  copies  of  Carlyle's  44  Miscel 
lanies."  Later  she  writes  (November  25,  1839) 
to  ask  him  44  What  is  the  4  Harleyan  (sz'<?)  Miscel 
lany  '  ?  —  an  account  of  a  library  ?  "  and  says,  "  I 
thought  to  send  Tennyson  next  time,  but  I  can 
not  part  with  him,  it  must  be  for  next  pacquet 
(sic).  I  have  been  reading  Milnes  ;  he  is  rich  in 
fine  thoughts  but  not  in  fine  poetry." 

One  of  the  best  passages  in  these  letters  of  Mar 
garet  Fuller,  a  passage  that  has  in  it  a  flavor  of 
Browning's  imaginative  wealth,  is  a  little  sketch 
by  her  of  the  melancholy  position  of  a  queen  who 
has  borne  no  heir  to  the  throne.  It  is  only  by 


70  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

way  of  prelude  to  a  playful  condolence  with  Mr. 
Emerson,  followed  by  a  very  frank  criticism :  — 

"November,  1843. 

..."  I  always  thought  the  saddest  position  in  the 
world  must  be  that  of  some  regal  dame  to  whom  hus 
band,  court,  kingdom,  world  look  in  vain  for  an  heir ! 
She  is  only  supposed  to  eat,  breathe,  move,  think,  nay ! 
love,  for  this ;  the  book  of  her  life  is  only  perused  for  the 
sake  of  its  appendix.  Meanwhile,  she,  perhaps,  persists 
in  living  on,  as  if  her  life  by  itself  were  of  any  conse 
quence,  is  the  mother  of  no  prince,  or  has  even  the  im 
pertinence  to  incumber  the  kingdom  with  a  parcel  of 
princesses,  girls  who  must  be  *  weel-tochered  '  to  make 
them  of  any  value. 

"  But  what  is  this  pathos  compared  to  that  percepti 
ble  in  the  situation  of  a  Jove,  under  the  masculine  obli 
gations  of  all-sufncingness,  who  rubs  his  forehead  in 
vain  to  induce  the  Minerva-bearing  headache !  Alas  ! 
his  brain  remains  tranquil,  his  fancy  daughterless  ! 
Nature  keeps  on  feeding  him  and  putting  him  to  sleep 
as  if  she  thought  the  oak  was  of  consequence,  whether 
it  bear  the  mistletoe  or  not ! 

"  Heaven  help  thee,  my  Druid !  if  this  blessed,  brood 
ing,  rainy  day  do  not.  It  is  a  fine  day  for  composition, 
were  it  not  in  Concord.  But  I  trow  the  fates  which 
gave  this  place  Concord,  took  away  the  animating  influ 
ences  of  Discord.  Life  here  slumbers  and  steals  on 
like  the  river.  A  very  good  place  for  a  sage,  but  not 
for  the  lyrist  or  the  orator. 

"  Gentle  river, 
Stealing  on  so  slowly  ever, 
From  reeds  that  grow  thy  bank  along 
Easy  would  flow  the  pastoral  song. 


FINDING  A  FRIEND.  71 

"  But  the  shell 

Which  may  be  strong  for  lyric  swell 
Or  trumpet  spire  for  oratory, 
Seek  these  mid  the  tritons  hoary, 
Where  an  incalculable  wave 
Wrecks  the  war-ship  tall  and  brave, 
Rushes  up  a  mile-long  strand, 
Hails  the  stars  and  spurns  the  land, 
Pushes  back  the  noblest  river 
Seeking  in  vain  its  love  forever, 
There  mightst  thou  find  a  shell 
Fit  to  be  strung  for  strains  of  Delphian  swell."  1 

Margaret  Fuller's  verses  are  not  commonly  quite 
worth  preserving,  though  no  one  could  think  so  ill 
of  them  as  did  she  herself.  But  these  which  I 
have  just  quoted  have  in  them  some  of  those 
"  lyric  glimpses  "  that  Emerson  praised  in  her ; 
the  "  incalculable  wave  "  and  "  mile-long  strand  " 
are  terse  and  poetic  ;  and  the  suggestion  that  Em 
erson  may  have  lost,  as  well  as  gained,  by  a  life 
long  residence  among  scenes  so  soothing,  —  this 
is  something  of  value,  and  perhaps  no  one  else 
ventured  to  speak  so  frankly  to  the  great  leader 
of  thought  as  did  this  feminine  disciple.  Nor  can 
I  remember  to  have  seen  elsewhere  so  much  as  a 
hint  that  the  world  might  have  been  the  better 
had  some  great  combination  of  events  wrenched 
him  for  a  time  from  that  ideal  chimney-corner  in 
Concord.  Here  one  may  easily  differ  from  her; 
nevertheless,  her  suggestion  is  worth  preserving. 

At  any  rate,  this  was  the  tone  and  temper  of 
her  intercourse  with  the  closest  and  most  eminent 
i  MS. 


72  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

of  her  friends.  Many  other  friendships  she  had, 
which  are  commemorated  in  the  pages  of  her  pub 
lished  "Memoirs,"  and  which,  indeed,  produced 
the  book.  Moreover,  she  had  half  a  dozen  friend 
ships  with  women  for  every  one  she  maintained 
with  men,  and  yet  made  it  a  matter  of  conscience 
to  keep  all  these  intimacies  apart  from  one  another. 
She  writes  once  to  Emerson  (July  5, 1840)  :  "  Do 
not  think,  because  persons  are  intimate  with  me, 
that  they  know  this  or  any  of  my  other  friends' 
secrets  :  I  know  how  to  keep  relations."  1  What 
was  her  ideal  of  such  a  tie  may  be  seen  from  this 
passage,  written  to  one  of  those  nearest  to  her  in 
sympathy,  and  dissenting  both  from  his  and  from 
Emerson's  definitions  of  friendship  :  — 

"  July,  1841. 

"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  deeply  do  I  feel 
the  imperfection  of  your  view  of  friendship,  which  is 
the  same  Waldo  E.  takes  in  that  letter  on  Charles's 
death.  It  is  very  noble,  but  not  enough  for  our  mani 
fold  nature.  Our  friends  should  be  our  incentives  to 
Right,  but  not  only  our  guiding,  but  our  prophetic  stars. 
To  love  by  right  is  much,  to  love  by  faith  is  more  ;  both 
are  the  entire  love,  without  which  heart,  mind,  and  soul 
cannot  be  alike  satisfied.  We  love  and  ought  to  love 
one  another  not  merely  for  the  absolute  worth  of  each, 
but  on  account  of  a  mutual  fitness  of  temporary  char 
acter.  We  are  not  merely  one  another's  priests  or  gods, 
but  ministering  angels,  exercising  in  the  part  the  same 
function  as  the  Great  Soul  in  the  whole,  of  seeing  the 
perfect  through  the  imperfect,  nay,  making  it  come 
i  MS.; 


FINDING  A  FRIEND.  73 

there.  Why  am  I  to  love  any  friend  the  less  for  any 
obstruction  in  his  life  ?  Is  not  the  very  time  for  me  to 
love  most  tenderly  when  I  must  see  his  life  in  despite 
of  seeming ;  when  he  shows  it  me  I  can  only  admire  :  I 
do  not  give  myself.  I  am  taken  captive.  How  shall  I 
express  my  meaning  ?  Perhaps  I  can  do  so  from  the 
tales  of  chivalry,  where  I  find  what  corresponds  far 
more  thoroughly  with  my  nature  than  in  these  stoical 
statements.  The  friend  of  Amadis  expects  to  hear  prod 
igies  of  valor  of  the  absent  preux  [chevalier]  ;  but  if 
he  be  mutilated  in  one  of  his  first  battles,  shall  he  be 
mistrusted  by  the  brother  of  his  soul  more  than  if  he 
had  been  tested  in  a  hundred  ?  If  Britomart  finds  Ar- 
tegall  bound  in  the  enchanter's  spell,  can  she  doubt, 
therefore,  him  whom  she  has  seen  in  the  magic  glass  ? 
A  Britomart  does  battle  in  his  cause,  and  frees  him  from 
the  evil  power ;  a  dame  of  less  nobleness  sits  and  watches 
the  enchanted  sleep,  weeping  night  and  day,  or  spurs 
away  on  her  white  palfrey  to  find  some  one  more  help 
ful  than  herself.  But  they  are  always  faithful  through 
the  dark  hours  to  the  bright.  The  Douglas  motto, 
*  Tender  and  true,'  seems  to  me  the  worthiest  of  the 
strongest  breast.  To  borrow  again  from  your  Spenser, 
I  am  entirely  suited  with  the  fate  of  the  three  brothers, 
Diamond  and  the  rest.  I  could  not  die  while  there  was 
yet  life  in  my  brother's  breast.  I  would  return  from 
the  shades  and  nerve  him  with  twofold  life  for  the  fight, 
I  could  do  it,  for  our  hearts  beat  with  one  blood.  Do  you 
not  see  the  truth  and  happiness  of  this  waiting  tender 
ness  ?  The  verse, 

'  Have  I  a  lover 

Who  is  noble  and  free, 
I  would  he  were  nobler 
Than  to  love  me.' 


74  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

does  not  quite  come  home  to  me,  though  this  does,  — • 

'  I  could  not  love  thee,  sweet,1  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more.'  .  .  . 

"  Do  not,  I  implore  you,  whether  from  pride  or  affec 
tion,  wish  to  exile  me  from  the  dark  hour.  The  manly 
mind  might  love  best  in  the  triumphant  hour ;  but  the 
woman  could  no  more  stay  from  the  foot  of  the  cross 
than  from  the  transfiguration."  2 

i  Thus  in  the  MS.  a  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 

18 


VI. 

SCHOOL-TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE. 
(1837-1838.) 

FOR  a  young  American  woman  who  wishes  to 
support  herself  and  educate  her  younger  brothers 
and  sisters,  the  natural  refuge  is  still  the  desk  of 
a  school-teacher.  In  Margaret  Fuller's  time  this 
was  even  more  true  than  now.  After  her  father's 
death  she  must  seek  a  shorter  path  to  self-support 
than  was  to  be  found  in  those  alluring  ways  of 
literature  and  philosophy  which  she  would  have 
much  preferred.  An  opening  offered  itself  in  the 
school  of  Mr.  A.  B.  Alcott,  in  Boston,  where  Miss 
Elizabeth  P.  Peabody  had  been  previously  em 
ployed.  Mr.  Alcott's  unpublished  diary  gives  the 
successive  steps  in  the  negotiation  and  enables  me 
to  present  the  beginning  and  the  end  together. 

"  1836,  August  2d.  Emerson  called  this  morning  and 
took  me  to  Concord  to  pass  the  day.  At  his  house  I 
met  Margaret  Fuller  (I  had  seen  her  once  before  this), 
and  had  some  conversation  with  her  about  taking  Miss 
Peabody's  place  in  my  school." 

"  December  17th.  I  have  seen  M.  F.,  who,  besides 
giving  instruction  in  the  languages,  will  report  Hhe 
Conversations  on  the  Gospels '  as  they  proceed." 


76  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

"  1837,  January  8th.  I  resume  the  Conversations, 
which  have  been  suspended  since  last  July.  Subject, 
'  The  Sermon  on  the  Mount/  for  a  beginning.  Miss 
F.  reports  them  ;  if  she  succeeds  in  seizing  their  form 
and  spirit,  we  may  add  a  third  to  the  two  published 
volumes." 

"1837,  12th  January.  This  evening  with  M.  F. 
Clearly  a  person  given  to  the  boldest  speculations,  and 
of  liberal  and  varied  acquirements.  Not  wanting  in 
imaginary  power,  she  strikes  me  as  having  the  rarest 
good  sense  and  discretion :  —  qualities  so  essential  to 
success  in  any  sphere,  and  especially  to  a  woman  ambi 
tious  of  literary  distinction,  and  relying  solely  on  na 
tive  work.  She  adopts  the  spiritual  philosophy,  and  has 
the  subtlest  perceptions  of  its  necessities  and  bearings." 

"  February  8th.  Miss  F.  succeeds,  after  some  trial, 
in  reporting  the  Conversations." 

"  March  17th.  An  agreeable  hour  with  M.  F.,  in  whose 
sympathy  and  insight  I  find  great  content.  She  takes 
large  and  generous  views  of  things,  and  her  dispositions 
are  singularly  catholic  and  liberal.  She  has  great  skill 
in  discourse,  too  :  few  converse  with  the  like  freedom 
and  elegance.  I  am  pleased  to  learn  of  the  interest 
taken  in  her  behalf  by  persons  here  in  our  city  whose 
favor  is  a  passport  to  success.  To  her  has  been  given 
with  the  gift  of  intellect  that  of  prudence,  and  when 
these  are  united  in  one  person,  success  must  follow  in 
their  train." 

"  April.  Miss  Fuller  left  town  this  week  for  Groton, 
where  she  intends  passing  a  few  weeks,  for  recruiting 
her  health  to  enter  the  Green  Street  School  at  Provi 
dence.  Here,  during  the  last  winter,  she  has  been  en 
gaged  in  teaching  the  French,  German,  and  Italian 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       77 

languages  to  private  classes,  also  Latin  and  French  in 
my  school."  l 

Her  connection  with  Mr.  Alcott's  school,  like 
the  school  itself,  was  destined  to  be  short-lived. 
Mr.  Alcott's  characteristic  methods  of  dealing  with 
children  through  minute  questioning,  joined  with 
some  peculiar  theories  as  to  punishment,  called 
out  an  amount  of  indignation  which,  at  this  dis 
tance  of  time,  appears  almost  incredible.  The 
little  volume  called  "  Record  of  a  School,"  fol 
lowed  by  the  two  volumes  called  "  Conversations 
on  the  Gospels,"  roused  this  wrath  to  the  highest 
point.  The  books  and  the  school  were  bitterly  de 
nounced  by  the  "  Daily  Advertiser  "  and  "  Cou 
rier,"  the  latter  seriously  urging  that  Mr.  Alcott 
should  be  prosecuted  for  blasphemy,  as  Abner 
Kneeland  had  lately  been.  To  this  Mr.  R.  W. 
Emerson  wrote  an  indignant  reply,  asserting  that 
Mr.  Alcott's  only  offense  lay  in  his  efforts  to  "make 
children  think,"  and  that  his  experiment  was  one 
in  which  all  the  friends  of  education  were  inter 
ested.  The  editor  of  the  "  Courier, "  Mr.  J.  T. 
Buckingham,  rejoined  by  quoting  the  opinion  of 
a  Harvard  professsor  that  "  one  third  of  Mr.  Al 
cott's  book  was  absurd,  one  third  was  blasphemous, 
and  one  third  was  obscene."  2 

Such  was  the  hornet's  nest  into  which  Margaret 
Fuller  had  unwarily  plunged  herself  by  following 
the  very  mildest-mannered  saint  who  ever  tried 

1  MS.  by  Mr.  Alcott. 

2  Biographical  Sketch  of  A.  B.  Alcott ,  p.  15. 


78  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

his  hand  at  the  spiritual  training  of  children. 
With  what  discrimination  she  viewed  the  whole 
affair  —  how  well  she  saw  defects  on  the  practical 
side  as  well  as  moral  excellence,  is  shown  clearly 
in  this  letter,  addressed  to  one  of  her  most  culti 
vated  friends. 

"BOSTON,  6th  April,  1837. 

...  "  Why  is  it  that  I  hear  you  are  writing  a  piece 
to  '  cut  up  '  Mr.  Alcott.  I  do  not  believe  you  are  going 
to  cut  up  Mr.  Alcott.  There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the 
uet  created  solely  for  markets,  etc. ;  —  no  need  to  try 
your  knife  on  a  dolphin  like  him.  I  should  be  charmed 
if  I  thought  you  were  writing  a  long,  beautiful,  wise-like 
article,  showing  the  elevated  air,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  practical  defects  of  his  system.  You  would  do  a 
great  service  to  him  as  well  as  to  the  public,  and  I  know 
no  one  so  well  qualified  as  yourself  to  act  as  a  mediator 
between  the  two,  and  set  both  sides  of  the  question  in 
a  proper  light.  But  the  phrase  *  cutting  up '  alarms 
me.  If  you  were  here  I  am  sure  that  you  would  feel 
as  I  do,  and  that  your  wit  would  never  lend  its  patron 
age  to  the  ugly  blinking  owls,  who  are  now  hooting 
from  their  snug  tenements,  overgrown  rather  with  net 
tles  than  with  ivy,  at  this  star  of  purest  ray  serene. 
But  you  are  not  here,  more  's  the  pity,  and  perhaps  do 
not  know  exactly  what  you  are  doing ;  do  write  to  me 
and  reassure  me."  * 

But   whether   the   newspapers   were    right   or 

wrong,  their  criticisms  killed  the  school.     Mr.  Al- 

cott's  receipts,  which  during   the   previous  year 

had  been  $1,395,  sank  to  f  549  during  the  year 

i  MS. 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       79 

after  the  attack  ;  the  forty  pupils  dwindled  to  ten, 
and  in  April,  1837,  the  school  furniture  and  appa 
ratus  were  sold,  and  the  assistant  necessarily  dis 
charged.  The  school  itself  lingered  for  two  years 
more,  until  fresh  wrath  was  kindled  by  the  admis 
sion  of  a  colored  child ;  there  was  another  with 
drawal  of  pupils,  leaving  Mr.  Alcott  with  nobody 
to  teach  but  his  own  three  daughters,  the  colored 
child,  and  one  undismayed  white  pupil.  "  I  earn 
little  or  nothing  in  this  miserable  school,"  he  writes 
in  his  unpublished  diary,  April  23,  1839,  "  nor  am 
I  laboring  towards  any  prospective  good  in  it." 
During  the  same  month  (April  11),  in  a  summary 
of  his  small  income  —  for  a  period  not  stated  —  he 
credits  the  parents  of  his  pupils  with  thirty  dol 
lars.1  The  school  closed  finally  in  June  or  July, 
1839,  and  left  its  projector  free  to  adopt  his  favor 
ite  conversational  methods  of  urging  his  thought, 
—  methods  with  which  he  has  been  identified  for 
forty  years.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the 
merits  or  demerits  of  his  theories  of  teaching,  but 
the  final  close  of  his  experiment  certainly  did  him 
no  discredit ;  he  went  down  with  his  flag  still  fly 
ing. 

The  school  in  which  Margaret  Fuller  was  to 
teach  at  Providence  was  the  Green  Street  Acad 
emy,  founded  by  Colonel  Hiram  Fuller,  a  gentle 
man  in  no  way  her  relative.  He  was  a  person  of 
some  force  of  character  and  a  good  deal  of  ambi 
tion,  who  perhaps  showed  both  qualities  in  inviting 
1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  vol.  xil 


80  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Miss  Fuller  to  be  his  assistant.  She  wrote  of  him 
to  Miss  Peabody  :  "  Mr.  Fuller  is  as  unlike  as 
possible  to  Mr.  Alcott.  He  has  neither  his  poetic 
beauty  nor  his  practical  defects."  1  His  offer  to 
her,  as  stated  iti  Mr.  Alcott's  diary,  was  a  liberal 
one  for  those  days,  and  I  am  assured  by  Miss  Ja 
cobs,  who  followed  Miss  Fuller  in  the  school,  that 
the  thousand  dollars  were  undoubtedly  paid,  though 
Horace  Greeley,  in  his  "  Recollections,"  states  the 
contrary.  Mr.  Fuller  taught  the  school  for  a  few 
years  only,  then  went  to  New  York  and  became 
connected  with  the  New  York  "Mirror,"  edited 
by  N.  P.  Willis  and  George  P.  Morris.  This  he 
abandoned  after  a  time,  "  being  tired,"  as  he  said, 
44  of  supporting  two  poets,"  and  was  afterwards 
editor  of  the  London  "  Cosmopolitan."  In  addi 
tion  to  his  bold  choice  of  an  assistant,  he  invoked 
the  rising  prestige  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  in 
viting  him  to  give  an  address  at  the  dedication 
of  the  Academy  (Saturday,  June  10,  1837),  and 
suggesting  to  him,  he  being  still  in  the  ministry, 
to  bring  sermons  and  preach  in  the  two  Unitarian 
churches. 

Margaret  Fuller  was  ill  for  a  time  after  reach 
ing  Providence,  and  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson  in  June, 
1887  :  "  Concord,  dear  Concord,  haven  of  repose, 
where  headache,  vertigo,  other  sins  that  flesh  is  heir 
to,  cannot  long  continue."  After  this  came  a  pe 
riod  of  unusual  health,  during  which  she  wrote  in 
great  exhilaration  to  her  friends.  To  Miss  Pea- 
i  MS. 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       81 

body,  for  instance  (July  8,  1837),  she  exulted  in 
the  "  glow  of  returning  health,"  and  then  gave 
this  account  of  the  school :  — 

"As  to  the  school,  ...  I  believe  I  do  very  well 
there.  I  am  in  it  four  hours  every  morning,  five  days 
in  the  week ;  thus  you  see  I  can  have  much  time,  not 
withstanding  many  casual  interruptions.  All  Saturday 
and  Sunday  to  myself.  I  rise  so  early  that  I  often  get 
an  hour  and  a  half  before  breakfast,  besides  two  or  three 
hours  in  the  afternoon  on  school  days.  This  is  quite 
enough  for  health,  and  the  time  is  good  time,  for  the 
school  rarely  tires  me  at  all.  I  feel  so  perfectly  equal 
to  all  I  do  there,  without  any  effort ;  my  pupils,  al 
though  miserably  prepared,  are  very  docile,  their  hearts 
are  right,  and  I  already  perceive  that  I  am  producing 
some  effect  on  their  heads.  My  plan  grows  quietly  and 
easily  in  my  mind ;  this  experience  here  will  be  useful 
to  me,  if  not  to  Providence,  for  I  am  bringing  my  opin 
ions  to  the  test,  and  thus  far  have  reason  to  be  satis 
fied."1 

Her  mode  of  life  in  Providence,  during  this 
period,  she  described  in  letters  to  her  younger 
brother.  She  lived  methodically,  as  she  usually 
did ;  almost  always  rose  at  five,  —  it  was  in  sum 
mer, —  and  sometimes  at  half-past  four;  it  took 
her  till  six  to  dress  ;  she  studied  till  half-past  seven, 
the  breakfast  hour;  school  lasted  from  half-past 
eight  to  half-past  twelve ;  she  got  home  at  one, 
dined  at  half-past  one ;  lay  down  till  three  ;  then 
wrote  or  studied  till  tea-time,  probably  at  six  ;  in 
the  evening,  walked  or  made  calls  till  ten;  this 
i  MS. 


82  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

was  her  day.1  Her  task  as  to  mere  instruction 
was  not  difficult,  and  her  letters  everywhere  show 
her  to  have  had  that  natural  love  of  children  so 
essential  to  the  teacher.  She  never  leaves  a  house 
but  some  gay  message,  sent  back  to  the  youngest 
members,  shows  unerringly  that  they,  at  least, 
cannot  have  complained  of  her  as  haughty  or  su 
percilious. 

A  lady  who  was,  when  a  child,  a  housemate  of 
Margaret  Fuller  while  in  Providence,  has  lately 
told  me  an  anecdote  which  thoroughly  illustrates 
the  noble  and  truthful  way  in  which  she  habitu 
ally  dealt  with  children.  My  informant,  who  was 
then  a  little  girl,  says  that  there  were  beautiful 
books  and  other  curiosities  upon  Miss  Fuller's 
table,  and  that  the  children  in  the  house  were  al 
lowed  to  see  them  sometimes,  on  condition  that 
they  would  not  touch  them.  One  day,  in  Miss 
Fuller's  absence,  a  young  visitor  came,  and  insist 
ing  on  taking  down  a  microscope,  despite  the  little 
girl's  remonstrances,  dropped  and  broke  it.  My 
informant  was  found  in  an  agony  of  tears  amidst 
the  wreck  ;  all  her  protestations  of  innocence  were 
unheeded,  and  she  was  shut  up  as  a  prisoner,  not 
merely  for  disobedience,  but  for  falsehood.  No 
one  would  even  listen  to  her  story,  the  circum 
stantial  evidence  seemed  so  overwhelming.  Miss 
Fuller  returned,  and  was  told  the  incident ;  she 
came  instantly  to  the  room  and  took  the  weeping 
child  upon  her  knee.  "  Now,  my  dear  little  girl," 
i  Fuller  MSS.  i.  619. 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       83 

she  said,  "  tell  me  all  about  it,  only  remember  that 
you  must  be  careful,  for  I  shall  believe  every  word 
you  say."  Thus  encouraged,  the  innocent  tale 
was  told ;  investigation  followed,  and  complete 
acquittal.  My  informant,  herself  to  this  day  an 
eminently  successful  teacher,  told  me  that  she  then 
learned  the  life-long  lesson  of  treating  children 
with  a  noble  confidence. 

It  is  impossible  for  a  teacher  to  write  about 
teaching  without  disclosing  her  own  theories  and 
revealing  her  own  experience.  The  year  after 
Margaret  Fuller  left  Providence,  we  find  her 
writing  to  her  brother  Arthur,  then  teaching  a 
district  school  in  Massachusetts  ;  and  never  had 
young  teacher  a  better  counselor.  She  tells  him, 
for  instance  (December  20,  1840),  — 

"  The  most  important  rule  is,  in  all  relations  with  our 
fellow-creatures,  never  forget  that  if  they  are  imperfect 
persons  they  are  immortal  souls  ;  and  treat  them  as  you 
would  wish  to  be  treated  by  the  light  of  that  thought." 

"  Beware  of  over-great  pleasure  in  being  popular  or 
even  beloved.  As  far  as  an  amiable  disposition  and 
powers  of  entertainment  make  you  so,  it  is  a  happiness, 
but  if  there  is  one  grain  of  plausibility,  it  is  a  poison." 

This  last  maxim  seems  to  me  simply  admi 
rable;  and  she  has  an  equally  good  passage  in 
which  she  warns  him  against  flattery,  which,  as 
she  keenly  points  out,  is  even  more  injurious  to 
children  than  to  grown  people.  She  adds  :  — 

"  For  to  the  child,  the  parent  or  teacher  is  the  repre 
sentative  of  justice,  and  as  that  [i.  e.,  the  justice]  of  life 


8-4  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

is  severe,  an  education  which  in  any  way  excites  vanity 
is  the  very  worst  preparation  for  that  general  and 
crowded  school."  1 

It  would  be  easy  to  transcribe  many  more  of 
these  admirable  aphorisms,  which  prove  as  clearly 
as  if  one  had  seen  her  in  school,  that  she  who 
wrote  them  had  rare  gifts  for  the  work  of  educa 
tion.  With  all  this,  I  do  not  suppose  that  Mar 
garet  Fuller  was  a  perfect  teacher ;  her  health  was 
variable,  and  her  heart  was  set  on  something  else  ; 
she  did  not  accept  this  as  her  life-work.  The 
teacher  who  followed  her  has  told  me  that  she 
was  worshiped  by  the  girls  as  in  her  earlier 
school-days,  but  was  sometimes  too  sarcastic  for 
the  boys ;  and  yet  they  certainly  gave  every  evi 
dence  of  attachment  when  she  left  them.  Out 
side  the  school,  too,  her  personal  qualities  or  her 
exceptional  attainments  brought  on  her  some  of 
those  criticisms  from  which  educated  men  are  not 
exempt,  and  which  are  quite  sure  to  visit  highly- 
educated  women.  One  lady  said  to  her  successor, 
Miss  Jacobs,  soon  after  her  arrival  at  the  school : 
41  Miss  Fuller  says  she  thinks  in  German  ;  do  you 
believe  it  ?  "  It  was  a  discourteous  question  to  a 
new-comer,  who  would  naturally  wish  to  keep  clear 
of  the  feuds  and  the  claims  of  her  predecessor; 
but  fortunately  Miss  Jacobs  had  ready  tact,  if 
Miss  Fuller  had  not.  "  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said,  "I 
do  not  doubt  it ;  I  myself  dream  in  Cherokee ; " 
which  left  her  assailant  discomfited. 

2  Fuller  MSS.  i.  643-645. 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.         85 

James  Freeman  Clarke  has  lately  said  in  a  ser 
mon  that  he  once  went  to  see  Margaret  Fuller 
when  she  had  been  teaching  in  Providence  for  a 
year  or  two.  She  showed  him  two  packages  of 
letters  which  she  had  received  from  her  pupils. 
"These  letters,"  said  she,  "if  you  should  read 
them,  would  show  you  the  work  I  have  been  do 
ing  for  my  scholars.  The  first  package  contains 
the  letters  which  they  usually  write  to  me  after 
they  have  been  in  the  school  two  or  three  months. 
They  say,  4  O  Miss  Fuller,  we  did  not  know,  till 
we  came  to  you,  how  ignorant  we  were.  We 
seem  to  know  nothing  at  all,  and  not  to  be  able 
to  learn  anything.  We  might  as  well  stop,  and 
give  up.  We  are  sure  we  shall  never  be  able  to 
study  to  any  purpose.'  This  package  of  letters," 
said  their  teacher,  "  I  have  labeled,  Under  convic 
tion." 

"  This  other  package,"  she  continued,  "  holds 
the  letters  they  write  some  time  afterward.  In 
these  they  say,  c  We  owe  you  ever  so  much  for 
showing  us  how  we  can  become  something  better. 
We  are  still  very  stupid,  but  we  now  feel  as  if  we 
were  in  the  right  way,  and  were  making  some 
progress.  Pray  help  us  to  do  more  and  better. 
You  have  given  us  courage,  and  taught  us  how  to 
go  forward  ! '  This  package,"  said  she,  "  I  label, 
Obtained  a  hope" 

She  went  for  occasional  brief  visits  from  Provi 
dence  to  Boston,  and  it  may  be  well  to  insert  a 
from  one  of  her  letters  to  Mr.  Emerson, 


86  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

in  which  she  gives  a  glimpse  of  the  gay  world 
of  that  city  forty-seven  years  ago.  The  picture 
of  Daniel  Webster  and  Theodore  Parker  moving 
among  the  jeunesse  dor£e  in  a  ball-room  seems  like 
one  of  the  far-fetched  improbabilities  of  an  his 
torical  novel.  The  "  Gigrnan  "  allusion  is  to  Car- 
lyle's  afterwards  hackneyed  phrase  about  the  re 
spectability  that  keeps  a  gig.  It  is  possible  that 
the  entertainment  may  have  occurred  just  before 
her  actual  removal  to  Providence. 

..."  Last  night  I  took  my  boldest  peep  into  the 
1  Gigman '  world  of  Boston.  I  have  not  been  to  a  large 
party  before,  and  only  seen  said  world  in  half-boots  ; 
so  I  thought,  as  it  was  an  occasion  in  which  I  felt  real 
interest,  to  wit,  a  fete  given  by  Mrs.  Thorndike  for 
my  beautiful  Susan,  I  would  look  at  it  for  once  in 
satin  slippers.  Dr.  Channiug  meant  to  go,  but  was  too 
weary  when  the  hour  came.  I  spent  the  early  part  of 
the  evening  in  reading  bits  of  Dante  with  him,  and  talk 
ing  about  the  material  sublime  till  half-past  nine,  when 
I  went  with  Mrs.  C.  and  graceful  Mary.  It  was  very 
pretty  to  look  at.  So  many  fair  maidens  dressed  as  if 
they  had  stepped  out  of  their  grandmothers'  picture 
frames,  and  youths  with  their  long  locks,  suitable  to 
represent  pages  if  not  nobles.  Signor  Figaro  was 
there  also  in  propria  [persona]  la  et  la.  And  Daniel 
the  Great,  not,  however,  when  I  saw  him,  engaged  in 
an  operation  peculiarly  favorable  to  his  style  of  beauty, 
to  wit,  eating  oysters.  Theodore  Parker  was  there,  and 
introduced  to  me.  I  had  some  pleasant  talk  with  him, 
but  before  I  could  get  to  Spinoza,  somebody  seized  on 
me  and  carried  me  off  to  quite  another  S,  —  to  supper. 


I 

TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       87 

On  the  whole,  it  all  pleased  my  eye  ;  my  fashionable  fel 
low-creatures  were  very  civil  to  me,  arid  I  went  home, 
glad  to  have  looked  at  this  slide,  in  the  magic  lantern 
also." ! 

Writing  from  Providence,  August  14, 1837,  she 
lays  plans  for  her  summer  vacation,  which  is  to 
begin  with  unmerciful  tardiness  on  August  19. 
For  her  three  weeks'  vacation  she  plans  to  visit, 
with  her  friend  Caroline  Sturgis,  that  delicious 
land  of  lotus-eating,  Artichoke  Mills,  on  the  Mer- 
rimack,  "  there  to  be  silent  and  enjoy  daily  wood- 
walks  or  boat  excursions  with  her,"  —  or  else  to 
go  to  Concord.  As  to  Providence,  she  writes :  — 

"  I  fear  I  have  not  much  to  tell  that  will  amuse  you. 
With  books  and  pens  I  have,  maugre  my  best  efforts, 
been  able  to  do  miserably  little.  If  I  cannot  be  differ 
ently  situated,  I  must  leave  Providence  at  the  end  of 
another  term.  My  time  here  has  been  full  of  petty  an 
noyances,  but  I  regret  none  of  them,  they  have  so  en 
larged  my  practical  knowledge.  I  now  begin  really  to 
feel  myself  a  citizen  of  the  world.  My  plan  lies  clearer 
before  my  mind,  and  I  have  examined  almost  all  my 
materials,  but  beyond  this  I  have  done  nothing.  I  shall, 
however,  have  so  soon  an  opportunity  to  tell  you  all 
that  I  will  not  now  take  time  and  paper.  I  attended 
last  week,  somewhat  to  the  horror  of  Mr.  Fuller,  the 
Whig  Caucus  here,  and  heard  Tristam  B  urges.  It  is 
rather  the  best  thing  I  have  done."  2 

Jefferson's  correspondence  bearing  fruit  again  ! 
With  that  impressed  upon  her,  and  her  business 
like  father  in  her  mind,  she  shrank  from  a  merely 
1  MS.  2  MS. 


88  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

intellectual  life,  while  she  yet  felt  its  charms. 
Her  residence  in  Providence  had  made  her  "  a  citi 
zen  of  the  world,"  and  the  "  best  thing  she  had 
done"  there  was  to  defy  the  disapproval  of  her 
employer  and  attend  a  caucus,  —  in  those  days  a 
rare  exploit  for  a  woman.  We  see  the  same  half- 
conscious  impulse  toward  action  manifested  in  one 
of  her  letters  to  her  younger  brothers,  in  which 
she  describes  with  great  fullness  a  visit  to  a 
French  man-of-war,  the  Hercules,  which  had  an 
chored  in  Narragansett  Bay.  She  says,  incident 
ally,  "  I  thought  I  much  should  like  to  command 
such  a  vessel,  despite  all  the  hardships  and  priva 
tions  of  such  a  situation."1  When  she  wrote, 
years  after,  the  oft-quoted  passage  in  "  Woman 
in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  "  Let  them  be  sea- 
captains,  if  they  will,"  it  may  have  been  with  this 
reminiscence  in  her  mind. 

On  March  1,  1838,  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson 
one  of  her  most  characteristic  letters.  I  repro 
duce  it  from  the  manuscript,  because  it  shows 
what  Mr.  Emerson  was  to  her,  —  a  saint  in  her 
oratory,  —  and  because  it  puts  what  was  often 
called,  in  her  case,  self-consciousness  and  vanity, 
in  their  clearest  light.  She  was  sometimes  said  to 
despise  her  fellow-creatures,  and  all  that  passed 
for  contempt  in  her  is  frankly  uttered  here.  Yet 
behind  it,  if  I  understand  it  rightly,  is  a  profound 
and  even  self-torturing  humility.  Always  dissatis 
fied  with  herself,  she  finds  to  her  dismay  that 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  G35. 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       89 

other  people  share  the  same  condition,  or  worse. 
"  I  see  no  divine  person  ;  I  myself  am  more  divine 
than  any  one  I  see.  I  think  that  is  enough  to 
say  about  them."  To  a  lower  depth,  that  is,  she 
can  scarcely  assign  them  than  to  say  that  they 
seem  to  be  accomplishing  even  less  than  she  does. 
The  woman  who  wrote  this  was  but  twenty-seven, 
poor,  a  martyr  to  ill-health,  and  with  a  desperate 
hungering  of  the  soul  to  do  her  appointed  work 
in  the  world,  and  make  full  use  of  the  talents 
confided  to  her.  When  we  consider  that  she  was 
writing  to  her  father-confessor,  in  absolute  free 
dom  and  in  an  almost  fantastic  mood  of  depres- 
sion^  —  with  her  supposed  profession  of  teaching 
crumbling  beneath  her  feet,  and  nothing  before 
her  but  an  intellectual  career,  which  in  a  worldly 
way  was  then  no  career  ;  her  plans  uncertain,  her 
aims  thwarted,  her  destiny  a  conundrum,  —  what 
man  of  intellectual  pursuits,  looking  back  on  the 
struggles  of  his  own  early  years,  can  throw  a  stone 
at  Margaret  Fuller  ? 

"PROVIDENCE,  1st  March,  1838. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Many  a  Zelterian  l  epistle 
have  I  mentally  addressed  to  you,  full  of  sprightly 
scraps  about  the  books  I  have  read,  the  spectacles  I 
have  seen,  and  the  attempts  at  men  and  women  with 
whom  I  have  come  in  contact.  But  I  have  not  been 
able  to  put  them  on  paper ;  for,  even  when  I  have  at 
tempted  it,  you  have  seemed  so  busy  and  noble,  and  I 

1  A  phrase  suggested  by  the  correspondence  between  Goethe 
and  Zelter,  which  she  had  been  reading. 


90  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

so  poor  and  dissipated,  that  I  have  not  felt  worthy  to 
address  you. 

"  At  present  I  am  not  at  all  Zelterian  in  my  mood, 
but  very  sombre  and  sullen.  I  have  shut  the  door  for 
a  few  days,  and  tried  to  do  something ;  you  have  really 
been  doing  something.  And  that  is  why  I  write.  I 
want  to  see  you,  and  still  more  to  hear  you.  I  must 
kindle  my  torch  again.  Why  have  I  not  heard  you  this 
winter  ?  I  feel  very  humble  just  now,  yet  I  have  to 
say  that  being  lives  not  who  would  have  received  from 
your  lectures  as  much  as  I  should.  There  are  noble 
books,  but  one  wants  the  breath  of  life  sometimes.  And 
I  see  no  divine  person.  I  myself  am  more  divine  than 
any  I  see.  I  think  that  is  enough  to  say  about  them. 
I  know  Dr.  Wayland  now,  but  I  shall  not  care  for  him. 
He  would  never  understand  me,  and,  if  I  met  him,  it 
must  be  by  those  means  of  suppression  and  accommo 
dation  which  I  at  present  hate  to  my  heart's  core.  I 
hate  everything  that  is  reasonable  just  now,  '  wise  lim 
itations'  and  all.  I  have  behaved  much  too  well  for 
some  time  past ;  it  has  spoiled  my  peace.  What  grieves 
me,  too,  is  to  find  or  fear  my  theory  a  cheat.  I  cannot 
serve  two  masters,  and  I  fear  all  the  hope  of  being  a 
worldling  and  a  literary  existence  also  must  be  resigned. 
Isolation  is  necessary  to  me,  as  to  others.  Yet  I  keep  on 
*  fulfilling  all  my  duties,'  as  the  technical  phrase  is,  except 
to  myself.  But  why  do  I  write  thus  to  you  who  like  noth 
ing  but  what  is  good,  that  is,  cheerfulness  and  forti 
tude?  It  is  partly  because  yours  is  an  image  of  my 
oratory,1  and  if  I  do  not  jest  when  I  write  to  you,  I 
must  pray.  And  partly  as  a  preliminary  to  asking  you, 

1  "  I  suppose  you  will  not  know  what  this  means,  whether  you 
come  or  no.    Do  not  disappoint  me." 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       91 

unsympathizing,  unhelpful,  wise,  good  man  that  you 
are,  to  do  several  things  for  me.  I  hear  you  are  to  de 
liver  one  of  your  lectures  again  in  Boston.  I  would 
have  you  do  it  while  I  am  there.  I  shall  come  on 
Wednesday  next,  and  stay  till  the  following  Monday. 
Perhaps  you  will  come  to  see  me,  for,  though  I  am 
not  as  good  as  I  was,  yet,  as  I  said  before,  I  am  better 
than  most  persons  /  see,  and,  I  dare  say,  better  than 
most  persons  you  see.  But  perhaps  you  do  not  need  to 
see  anybody,  for  you  are  acting,  and  nobly.  If  so,  you 
need  not  come  yourself,  but  send  me  your  two  lectures 
on  *  Holiness '  and  '  Heroism.'  Let  me  have  these  two 
lectures,  at  any  rate,  to  read  while  in  Boston." 

But  her  prediction  was  fulfilled ;  if  she  followed 
her  literary  longings  she  must  leave  Providence, 
and  so  she  did.  Mr.  Ripley  had  suggested  to  her 
to  write  a  life  of  Goethe,  but  it  ended  in  a  trans 
lation  of  Eckermann's  "  Conversations  "  with  that 
great  man,  prefaced  by  one  of  her  "Dial  "  essays 
on  the  subject  and  published  in  Ripley 's  series  of 
"  Specimens  of  German  Authors,"  probably  with 
out  compensation.  Her  plans  and  purposes  on 
retiring  from  her  school  are  best  stated  in  a  letter 
to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing,  not  before  pub 
lished  :  — 

"PROVIDENCE,  9th  December,  1838. 

"  I  am  on  the  point  of  leaving  Providence,  and  I  do  so 
with  unfeigned  delight,  not  only  because  I  am  weary 
and  want  rest,  because  my  mind  has  so  long  been  turned 
outward  and  longs  for  concentration  and  leisure  for 
tranquil  thought,  but  because  I  have  here  been  always 
in  a  false  position  and  my  energies  been  consequently 


92  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

much  repressed.  To  common  observers  I  seem  well 
placed  here,  but  I  know  that  it  is  not  so,  and  that  I 
have  had  more  than  average  difficulties  to  encounter, 
some  of  them  insurmountable.  But  from  these  difficul 
ties  I  have  learned  so  much  that  I  cannot  but  suppose 
my  experience  is  to  be  of  further  use. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  teach  again  at  all.  If  I  consult 
my  own  wishes  I  shall  employ  the  remainder  of  my  life 
in  quite  a  different  manner.  But  I  foresee  circum 
stances  that  may  make  it  wrong  for  me  to  obey  my 
wishes. 

"  Mother  has  sold  her  place  at  Groton,  and  as  she 
is  to  leave  it  in  April,  I  shall  go  home  and  stay  three 
months  at  least.  I  dream  of  Elysian  peace,  of  quiet 
growth,  and  other  benefits  no  doubt  well-known  to  your 
imagination.  Then  I  hope  to  prevail  on  her  to  board 
with  Ellen  and  me,  and  send  the  boys  to  school  for 
some  months.  But  after  that  we  must  find  a  sure  foot 
hold  on  the  earth  somewhere  and  plan  anew  a  home. 

"  But  this  leaves  me  nearly  a  year  for  my  own  inven 
tions.  If  at  the  end  of  that  time  it  should  seem  neces 
sary  for  the  good  of  all  concerned  that  I  should  teach 
again,  I  wish  to  do  it,  and  by  the  success  I  have  already 
attained,  and  by  the  confidence  I  now  feel  in  my  pow 
ers,  both  of  arrangement  of  a  whole  and  action  on 
parts,  feel  myself  justified  in  thinking  I  may  do  it  to 
much  greater  pecuniary  advantage  and  with  much  more 
extensive  good  results  to  others  than  I  have  yet  done." 

A  plan  suggested  by  Cincinnati  friends  for  a 
school  in  that  city  came  to  nothing,  and  she  left 
Providence  for  Boston  in  December,  1838.  This 
was  the  end  of  her  school-teaching,  though  she 
continued  to  take  occasional  private  pupils  in  lan« 


TEACHING  IN  BOSTON  AND  PROVIDENCE.       93 

guages  and  other  matters  ;  for  whom  she  was  paid, 
as  she  wrote  to  her  younger  brother,  at  the  rate 
of  two  dollars  an  hour,  or,  rather,  half  a  dollar  for 
quarter-hour  lessons.  That  winter,  however,  as 
she  tells  him,  she  is  too  tired  to  take  them  at 
any  price  ;  she  must  rest ;  but  she  will  give  her 
younger  sister  lessons  in  German,  and  will  teach 
Latin  and  composition  to  himself.  This  was  her 
idea  of  resting,  and  thus  she  rested  at  Groton  for 
the  remainder  of  that  winter. 


VII. 

SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN. 

(1838-1844.) 

IN  looking  forward  to  leaving  the  scene  of  her 
school-teaching,  Margaret  Fuller  wrote  thus  to 
Mrs.  Barlow  in  a  moment  of  headache  and  ner 
vous  exhaustion :  — 

"November  S,  1838. 

"  I  shall  go  home  about  Christmas  and  stay  till  April, 
and  never  set  foot  out  of  doors  unless  to  take  exercise  ; 
and  see  no  , human  face,  divine  or  otherwise,  out  of  my 
own  family.  But  I  am  wearied  out  and  I  have  gabbled 
and  simpered  and  given  my  mind  to  the  public  view 
these  two  years  back,  till  there  seems  to  be  no  good  left 
in  me." l 

She  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson  of  the  remaining 
months  of  that  winter,  "  My  sufferings  last  winter 
in  Groton  were  almost  constant,  and  I  see  the 
journal  is  very  sickly  in  its  tone.  I  have  taken 
out  some  leaves.  Now  I  am  a  perfect  Phoenix 
compared  with  what  I  was  then,  and  it  all  seems 
past  to  me."  2 

During  this  invalid  winter,  however,  she  made 
a  brief  visit  to  Boston,  where  she  had  three  en- 
1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  22.  2  MS.  letter,  November  25,  1839. 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.          95 

joyments,  so  characteristic  as  to  be  worth  quot 
ing:— 

"7  January,  1839. 

"  Three  things  were  specially  noteworthy.  First,  a 
talk  with  Mr.  Alcott,  in  which  he  appeared  to  me  so 
great,  that  I  am  inclined  to  think  he  deserves  your 
praise,  and  that  he  deceived  neither  you  nor  himself  in 
saying  that  I  had  not  yet  seen  him.  Beside  his  usual 
attitude  and  closeness  to  the  ideal,  he  showed  range, 
grasp,  power  of  illustration,  and  precision  of  statement 
such  as  I  never  saw  in  him  before.  I  will  begin  him 
again  and  read  by  faith  awhile. 

"  There  was  a  book  of  studies  from  Salvator  Rosa, 
from  the  Brimmer  donation,  at  the  Athenaeum,  which 
I  looked  over  with  great  delight  and  got  many  thoughts 
for  my  journal.  There  was  at  last  an  interview  with 
Mr.  Allston.  He  is  as  beautiful  as  the  town-criers  have 
said,  and  deserves  to  be  Mr.  Dana's  Olympus,  Lares, 
and  Penates,  as  he  is.  He  got  engaged  upon  his  Art, 
and  flamed  up  into  a  galaxy  of  Platonism.  Yet  what 
he  said  was  not  as  beautiful  as  his  smile  of  genius  in 
saying  it.  Unfortunately,  I  was  so  fascinated,  that  I 
forgot  to  make  myself  interesting,  arid  shall  not  dare  to 
go  and  see  him."  x 

Three  months  later  the  family  left  Groton  for 
ever,  having  taken  a  house  at  Jamaica  Plain, 
then  and  perhaps  now  the  most  rural  and  attract 
ive  suburb  of  Boston.  Here  their  dwelling  was 
near  a  little  stream,  called  Willow  Brook,  and 
there  were  rocks  behind  it  covered  with  cardinal 
flowers.  Margaret  Fuller  had  with  her  two  pu- 
i  MS. 


96  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

pils  from  Providence ;  she  was  within  easy  reach 
of  friends,  and  could  at  the  same  time  renew  that 
love  of  nature  which  Groton  had  first  tanght  her, 
and  which  city -life  had  only  suspended.  From 
this  time,  many  charming  outdoor  sketches  ap 
pear  among  her  papers.  Inheriting  a  love  of 
flowers  from  her  mother,  she  gave  to  them  mean 
ings  and  mysticisms  of  her  own.  Of  her  later 
"  Dial "  sketches,  "  The  Magnolia  of  Lake  Pont- 
chartrain  "  grew,  as  she  writes  in  one  of  her  un 
published  letters,  out  of  the  suggestion  by  some 
one  that  its  odor  was  so  exquisite  at  that  spot  as 
to  be  unlike  any  other  magnolia ;  and  the  "  Yucca 
Filamentosa"  came  wholly  from  a  description 
given  her  by  Dr.  Eustis,  in  his  garden  at  Brook- 
line,  of  its  flowering  at  full- moon.  "  If  you  like 
it "  (the  sketch  of  the  magnolia),  —  she  says  to 
one  of  her  correspondents,  —  "I  will  draw  the  soul 
also  from  the  Yucca  and  put  it  into  words."  l 

Among  her  unpublished  papers  there  are  sev 
eral  similar  flower-pieces  ;  one  upon  the  Passion 
Flower,  whose  petals  had  just  fallen  from  her 
girdle,  she  says,  while  all  her  other  flowers  re 
mained  intact ;  and  with  which  she  connects  a 
striking  delineation  of  human  character,  as  em 
bodied  in  some  person  not  now  to  be  identified. 
Again  she  has  been  hearing  in  some  conversation 
a  description  of  the  thorn  called  Spina  Christi, 
which  still  grows  on  the  plains  of  Judasa,  and  this 
leads  her  to  a  nobl£  winter  reverie :  — 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.         97 

"Januarys®,  1841. 

"  Recipe  to  prevent  the  cold  of  January  from  utterly  de 
stroying  life. 

"  Beneath  all  pain  inflicted  by  Nature,  be  not  only 
serene,  but  more,  let  it  avail  thee  in  prayer.  Put  up 
at  the  moment  of  greatest  suffering  a  prayer,  not  for 
thy  own  escape,  but  for  the  enfranchisement  of  some 
being  dear  to  thee,  and  the  sovereign  spirit  will  accept 
thy  ransom. 

"  My  head  is  very  sensitive,  and  as  they  described 
the  Spina  Christi  I  shuddered  all  over,  and  could  have 
fainted  only  at  the  thought  of  its  pressure  on  his  head. 
Yet  if  he  had  experienced  the  sufferings  of  humanity 
and  believed  that  by  *  thy  will  be  done '  —  a  steady 
feeling  in  his  breast  during  these  hours  of  torture  from 
an  ungrateful  race  —  he  could  free  them  from  suffering 
and  sin,  I  feel  how  he  might  have  borne  it.  It  seems 
to  me  I  might  be  educated  through  suffering  to  the 
same  purity. 

"  Does  any  man  wound  thee ;  not  only  forgive,  but 
work  into  thy  thought  intelligence  of  the  kind  of  pain, 
that  thou  mayst  never  inflict  it  on  another  spirit.  When 
its  work  is  done,  it  will  never  search  thy  whole  nature 
again. 

"  Oh,  love  much,  and  be  forgiven."  1 

It  will  be  seen  from  another  letter  that  she  set 
an  especial  value  on  her  flower  sketches  :  — 

"  You  often  tell  me  what  to  do  when  you  are  gone  ; 
if  you  survive  me,  will  you  not  collect  my  little  flower- 
pieces,  even  the  insignificant  ones  ?  I  feel  as  if  from 
mother  I  had  received  a  connection  with  the  flowers ; 

i  MS.  (W.  H.  G.) 

7 


98  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

she  has  the  love,  I  the  interpretation.  My  writings 
about  them  are  no  fancies,  but  whispers  from  them 
selves.  I  am  deeply  taught  by  the  constant  presence  of 
any  growing  thing.  This  apple-tree  before  my  window 
I  shall  mourn  to  leave.  Seeing  fruit  trees  in  a  garden 
is  entirely  another  thing  from  having  this  one  before 
my  eyes  constantly,  so  that  I  can't  help  seeing  all  that 
happens  to  it.  But  I  shall  write  out  the  history  of  our 
acquaintance  and  give  you  a  copy."  l 

Yet  I  must  confess  to  liking  her  out -door 
sketches  even  better  when  they  are  more  wholly 
descriptive  and  less  imaginative,  as  with  the  fol 
lowing  :  — 

"September  27  [1840?]. 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  loveliest  morning.  After  those  days  of 
glad  light  and  calm,  benign,  roseate  sunsets,  how  sweet 
the  '  unutterable  love '  of  such  clouds  as  the  west  wind 
has  brought ;  they  keep  sighing  themselves  away  and 
letting  us  see,  behind  the  tenderest  blue,  the  sky  of  May. 
The  utmost  purity  with  such  tenderness  !  All  the  fra 
grance  of  farewell  is  breathing  out  of  the  earth.  The 
flowers  seem  to  have  grown  up  express  for  the  day.  In 
the  wood  where  I  have  been  they  all  thronged  the  path  ; 
it  is  a  wood  where  none  but  me  goes,  and  they  can  smile 
secure.  I  was  looking  at  the  clouds  and  thinking  they 
could  not  choose  but  weep,  —  there  was  no  other  way  to 
express  such  intense  tenderness,  —  when  down  came  such 
a  sun-shower  as  you  describe  from  Waldo's  thoughts,  the 
clouds  only  looking  the  sweeter  and  more  sunlit  all  the 
time  for  being  able  to  express  themselves.  All  this  mu 
sic  is  playing  upon  me  almost  too  fully  ;  I  have  scarcely 
i  MS.  (W.H.  C.) 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.          99 

force  to  bear  it.  Perhaps  it  will  be  well  when  cold  win 
ter  comes  and  locks  the  instrument  up.  I  am  living 
like  an  angel,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  get  down.  Yet 
they  are  waiting  all  around,  leaning  on  the  packs  they 
expect  me  to  lift ;  they  look  at  me  reverently,  affection 
ately  ;  they  are  patient,  yet  I  see  they  are  waiting." i 

Then  comes  the  following,  in  which  she  extracts 
quite  as  much  from  the  wild  asters  as  from  yuccas 
and  magnolias :  — 

"  Tuesday  [September,  1840?]. 

"I  have  just  returned  from  a  walk  this  golden  au 
tumn  morning,  with  its  cloudless  sky  and  champagne 
air.  I  found  some  new  wood  walks,  glades  among  black 
pines  and  hemlocks,  openings  to  the  distant  hills,  grace 
ful  in  silvery  veils.  A  very  peculiar  feeling  these  asters 
give  me,  gleaming  on  every  side.  They  seem  my  true 
sisters.  They  look  so  refined,  so  saintly,  so  melancholy, 
so  generous  of  their  beauty,  and  the  flowers  look  at  me 
more  like  eyes  than  any  other.  These  are  good  reasons 
for  loving  ye,  sweet  asters,  but  they  do  not  go  to  the 
root  of  the  matter.  I  feel  a  really  yearning  tenderness, 
a  sense  of  relationship.  But  the  golden-rod  is  one  of 
the  fairy,  magical  flowers  ;  it  grows  not  up  to  seek  hu 
man  love  amid  the  light  of  day,  but  to  mark  to  the  dis 
cerning  what  wealth  lies  hid  in  the  secret  caves  of  earth. 
.  .  .  The  disgust  at  unworthy  care,  the  aching  sense 
of  how  far  deeds  are  transcended  by  our  lowest  aspira 
tion,  pass  away,  and  for  a  while  I  lean  on  the  bosom  of 
nature,  and  inhale  new  life  with  her  breath.  Could  but 
love,  like  knowledge,  be  its  own  reward ;  could  we  look 
upon  the  objects  of  our  affection  and  rejoice  in  their  ex 
istence,  purely  for  its  own  sake,  as  we  do  with  the  ferns 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


100  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

and  asters,  —  but  that  is  contrary  to  the  nature  of  love ; 
though  it  be  true  in  one  sense,  as  Schiller  says,  that  he 
only  loves  who  loves  without  hope,  yet  in  another  it  is 
true  that  love  cannot  exist  without  desire,  though  it  be 
the  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star."  l 

Sometimes  she  records  rambles  with  others,  and 
we  have  here  a  visit  to  Mount  Auburn,  at  the  pe 
riod  when  it  still  retained  its  rural  beauty :  — 

"  Saturday, . 

"  Ellery  [Channing]  and  I  had  a  good  afternoon  at 
Mount  Auburn.  He  was  wondering  why  men  had  ex 
pressed  so  little  of  any  worth  about  death.  I  said  I 
thought  they  attached  too  much  importance  to  it.  On 
this  subject  I  always  feel  that  I  can  speak  with  some 
certainty,  having  been  on  the  verge  of  bodily  dissolu 
tion.  I  felt  at  that  time  disengaged  from  the  body,  hov 
ering  and  calm.  And  in  moments  of  profound  thought 
or  feeling,  or  when,  after  violent  pain  in  the  head,  my 
exhausted  body  loses  power  to  hem  me  in,  I  have  felt 
changes  more  important  than  then.  I  believe  that  the 
mere  death  of  the  body  has  no  great  importance  except 
when  it  is  in  no  sense  accidental,  that  is,  when  the  mind, 
by  operations  native  to  it,  has  gradually  cast  aside  its 
covering,  and  is  ready  for  a  new  one.  But  this  is  very 
seldom  the  case.  Persons  die  generally,  not  as  a  natu 
ral  thing,  but  from  extraneous  causes ;  then  it  must  be 
a  change  only  one  degree  more  important  than  going  to 
sleep ;  for  what  the  mind  wants  to  develop  it,  it  must 
have,  here  or  elsewhere.  A  death  from  love  would  be 
perfectly  natural. 

"  Reasons  why  there  are  no  good  monuments  ?  I 
must  write  upon  this  subject.  March,  1840."  2 

i  MS.  2  Fuller  MSS.  i.  429, 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.        101 

She  had  fancies,  as  Mr.  Emerson  tells  us,  about 
days  and  precious  stones  and  talismans;  and  in 
one  of  her  letters  I  find  these  reveries  about  proper 
names :  — 

"  It  pleases  that  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  should 
have  received  the  archangelic  names  ;  it  seems  inspira 
tion  in  the  parents.  So  that  Swedenborg  should  bear 
the  name  of  Emanuel,  and  Kant,  too.  The  name 
of  Beethoven's  mother  does  not  seem  without  mean 
ing.  In  writing  yesterday,  I  observed  the  names  of 
Mary  and  Elizabeth  meeting  again  in  the  two  queens 
with  some  pleasure.  William  is  the  Conqueror.  Per 
haps  it  is  from  such  association  that  I  thought  from  ear 
liest  childhood  I  could  never  love  one  that  bore  another 
name  ;  I  am  glad  it  was  Shakespeare's.  Shelley  chose 
it  for  his  child.  It  is  linked  with  mine  in  ballad  as  if 
they  belonged  together,  but  the  story  is  always  tragic. 
In  the  Douglas  tragedy,  the  beauty  is  more  than  the 
sorrow.  In  one  of  the  later  ones  the  connection  is  dis 
mal."  l 

Again,  after  study  of  Goethe's  "  Farbenlehre  " 
(Theory  of  Colors),  she  writes,  with  similar  zest : 

"  Sunday,  February  21,  1841. 

"  I  have  been  reading,  most  of  the  day,  the  '  Farben 
lehre.'  The  facts  interest  me  only  in  their  mystical 
significance.  As  of  the  colors  demanding  one  another 
in  the  chromatic  circle,  each  demanding  its  opposite,  and 
the  eye  making  the  opposite  of  that  it  once  possessed. 
And  of  nature  only  giving  the  tints  pure  in  the  inferior 
natures,  subduing  and  breaking  them  as  she  ascends. 
Of  the  cochineal  making  mordants  to  fix  its  dye  on  the 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


102  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

vegetables  where  it  nestles.  Of  the  plants  which, 
though  they  grow  in  the  dark,  only  make  long  shoots, 
and  refuse  to  seek  their  flower. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  one  such  fact  would  have 
made  my  day  brilliant  with  thought.  But  now  I  seek 
the  divine  rather  in  Love  than  law."  l 

If  even  these  simpler  thoughts  show  a  tendency 
to  link  themselves  with  something  a  little  far 
fetched  and  fantastic,  we  must  remember  that  this 
was  a  period  when  German  romance  was  just  in 
vading  us  ;  when  Carlyle  was  translating  the  fan 
tasy  -  pieces  of  Tieck,  Hoffmann,  and  Musseus ; 
and  when  some  young  Harvard  students  spent  a 
summer  vacation  in  rendering  into  English  the 
mysteries  of  "  Henry  of  Ofterdingen,"  by  Novalis. 
Margaret  Fuller  took  her  share  in  this  ;  typified 
the  mysteries  of  the  soul  as  "  Leila,"  in  the  "  Dial," 
and  wrote  verses  about  herself,  under  that  name, 
in  her  diary  :  — 

"  Leila,  of  all  demanding  heart 
By  each  and  every  left  apart ; 
Leila,  of  all  pursuing  mind 
From  each  goal  left  far  behind  ; 
Strive  on,  Leila,  to  the  end, 
Let  not  thy  native  courage  bend ; 
Strive  on,  Leila,  day  by  day, 
Though  bleeding  feet  stain  all  the  way ; 
Do  men  reject  thee  and  despise  ?  — 
An  angel  in  thy  bosom  lies 
And  to  thy  death  its  birth  replies."  2 

These  were  her  days  of  thought  and  exaltation. 
Other  days  were  given  to  society,  usually  in  Bos- 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.)  2  MS.  Diary,  1844. 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.        103 

ton,  where  she  sometimes  took  a  room  for  the  win 
ter.  Hawthorne,  in  his  "  American-Note  Books," 
records,  under  the  date,  November,  1840 :  — 

"  I  was  invited  to  dine  at  Mr.  Bancroft's  yesterday 
with  Miss  Margaret  Fuller ;  but  Providence  had  given 
me  some  business  to  do,  for  which  I  was  very  thank 
ful."  ! 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Hawthorne  was 
always  grateful  for  any  dispensation  which  saved 
him  from  a  formal  dinner-party.  That  he  en 
joyed  a  conversation  with  Margaret  Fuller  per 
sonally  is  plain  from  an  entry  in  his  "  American 
Note-Books,"  describing  an  interview  between 
them  during  one  of  her  visits  to  Concord :  — 

"August^,  1842. 

..."  After  leaving  the  book  at  Mr.  Emerson's  I  re 
turned  through  the  woods,  and,  entering  Sleepy  Hollow, 
I  perceived  a  lady  reclining  near  the  path  which  bends 
along  its  verge.  It  was  Margaret  herself.  She  had 
been  there  the  whole  afternoon,  meditating  or  reading ; 
for  she  had  a  book  in  her  hand,  with  some  strange  title, 
which  I  did  not  understand,  and  have  forgotten.  She 
said  that  nobody  had  broken  her  solitude,  and  was  just 
giving  utterance  to  a  theory  that  no  inhabitant  of  Con 
cord  ever  visited  Sleepy  Hollow,  when  we  saw  a  group 
of  people  entering  its  sacred  precincts.  Most  of  them 
followed  a  path  which  led  them  away  from  us ;  but  an 
old  man  passed  near  us  and  smiled  to  see  Margaret,  re 
clining  on  the  ground,  and  me  sitting  by  her  side.  He 
made  some  remark  about  the  beauty  of  the  afternoon, 
and  withdrew  himself  into  the  shadow  of  the  wood 
*  American  Note-Books,  i.  221. 


104  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLT. 

Then  we  talked  about  autumn,  and  about  the  pleasures 
of  being  lost  in  the  woods,  and  about  the  crows,  whose 
voices  Margaret  had  heard ;  and  about  the  experiences 
of  early  childhood,  whose  influence  remains  upon  the 
character  after  the  recollection  of  them  has  passed 
away;  and  about  the  sight  of  mountains  from  a  dis 
tance,  and  the  view  from  their  summits  ;  and  about  other 
matters  of  high  and  low  philosophy.  In  the  midst  of 
our  talk,  we  heard  footsteps  above  us,  on  the  high  bank ; 
and  while  the  person  was  still  hidden  among  the  trees, 
he  called  to  Margaret,  of  whom  he  had  gotten  a  glimpse. 
Then  he  emerged  from  the  green  shade,  and,  behold !  it 
was  Mr.  Emerson.  He  appeared  to  have  had  a  pleasant 
time ;  for  he  said  that  there  were  Muses  in  the  woods  to 
day,  and  whispers  to  be  heard  in  the  breezes.  It  being 
now  nearly  six  o'clock,  we  separated,  —  Margaret  and 
Mr.  Emerson  towards  his  home,  and  I  towards  mine."  3 

Such  scenes  were  but  joyful  interludes  in  her 
life  at  Jamaica  Plain  ;  at  other  times  there  were 
what  she  calls  the  "  rye-bread  days "  given  to 
domestic  cares  and  country  cousins,  as  in  this  de 
scription  :  — 

"  Saturday.  This  was  one  of  the  rye-bread  days,  all 
dull  and  damp  without.  I  accomplished  many  trifles, 

and  a  little  writing  within.     Cousin came  to  see 

me ;  came  home  to  stay  a  fortnight.      I   passed 

the  evening  with  the  Farrars.  Around  my  path  how 
much  humble  love  has  flowed.  These  every-day  friends 
never  forget  my  heart,  never  censure  me,  make  no  de 
mands  on  me,  load  me  with  gifts  and  services,  and,  un 
complaining,  see  me  prefer  my  intellectual  kindred.  I 
1  American  Note-Books,  ii.  85. 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.       105 

am  ungrateful,  as  Timon  was  to  his  servants.  Yet, 
Heaven  be  praised,  though  sometimes  forgetful  of  them 
in  absence,  I  make  it  up  in  presence,  so  far  that  I  think 
I  do  not  give  pain,  as  I  pass  along  this  world."  l 

Other  rye-bread  days  were  spent  in  writing 
letters  of  counsel  to  her  younger  brothers,  who 
were.,  during  a  portion  of  this  time,  away  at 
school.  There  is  the  whole  range  of  a  New  Eng 
land  elder-sister's  life  in  the  two  following  ex 
tracts  from  the  same  letter  to  Richard  Fuller 
(May  12,  1842).  First,  the  love  of  Greek,  per 
haps  flagging,  must  be  stimulated  :  — 

"  While  here  I  have  been  reading  (only  in  transla 
tion,  alas !)  the  *  Cyropaedia,'  and  other  works  of  Xeno- 
phon,  and  some  dramas  of  Euripides ;  and,  were  envy 
ever  worth  our  while,  I  should  deeply  envy  those  who 
can  with  convenience  gain  access  to  the  Greek  mind  in 
its  proper  garb.  No  possession  can  be  more  precious 
than  a  knowledge  of  Greek."  2 

But  the  boyish  wardrobe,  a  severer  problem 
than  even  Greek,  must  be  also  supervised ;  she 
must  even  encounter  the  dawning  sensitiveness 
as  to  shirt-collars,  from  which  no  sister  can  es 
cape. 

"  Out  of  this  money  I  wish  you  and  Arthur  both  to 
give  your  aunt  some  to  buy  linen  for  your  shirt-bosoms. 
No  one  here  understands  how  you  wish  them  made ; 
whether  you  wish  to  have  bosoms  and  collars  sewed  on 
or  separate  ;  and  you  must  each  leave  with  her  separate, 
1  MS.  Diary.  2  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  691. 


106  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

precise   written   directions,  signed  with  your   separate 
names,  or  they  will  not  be  done  so  as  to  suit  you." l 

Then  comes  a  letter  about  the  use  of  money  it 
self  ;  —  a  letter  whose  clear  good  sense  would  have 
surprised  those  who  fancied  her,  in  those  days,  a 
dreamer  or  a  pedant. 

"  I  wish  you  had  said  distinctly  how  much  money  you 
want.  I  send  five  dollars,  which,  perhaps,  is  not  enough. 
Yet  this  makes  twenty  I  have  sent  you  since  mother 
went  away.  So  you  see  even  your  frugality  does  not 
enable  you  wholly  to  dispense  with  the  circulating 
medium  you  so  much  despise,  and  whose  use,  when  you 
have  thought  more  deeply  on  these  subjects,  you  will 
find  to  have  been  indispensable  to  the  production  of  the 
arts,  of  literature,  and  all  that  distinguishes  civilized 
man.  It  is  abused  like  all  good  things,  but  without  it 
you  would  not  have  had  your  Horace  and  Virgil,  stim 
ulated  by  whose  society  you  read  the  woods  and  fields 
to  more  advantage  than or [certain  unedu 
cated  neighbors].  Well,  enjoy  your  fields  and  trees, 
supplicating  the  Spirit  of  all  to  bring  you  clear  light 
and  full  sight."  2 

Then  deeper  chords  are  struck,  this  time  in  her 
diary :  — 

"  October  1st  [1842].  Anniversary  of  my  father's 
death.  Seven  years  have  passed,  —  a  generation,  —  un 
spotted  by  regrets,  and  rich  in  thought  and  experience, 
though  its  gifts  were  bathed  in  tears  oftentimes. 

"  October  2,  Sunday.  Dr.  Channing  left  this  world. 
A  blameless  life  came  to  an  end,  —  a  high  aspiration 
was  transferred  elsewhere.  He  could  not  have  died  at 
1  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  689.  «  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  701. 


SUBURBAN  LIFE  AT  JAMAICA  PLAIN.        107 

a  better  time  ;  it  was  indeed  for  him  the  fullness  of  time  ; 
but  it  is  sad  that  we  shall  see  him  no  more,  —  meet  no 
more  the  pale  benignant  countenance,  be  greeted  no 
more  by  the  gentle  formal  courtesy  ;  nay,  it  is  even 
sad  that  we  shall  be  catechised  no  more  for  great  truths 
to  feed  his  earnest  mind."  1 

The  Fuller  family  resided  at  Jamaica  Plain 
from  the  spring  of  1839  to  that  of  1842,  when 
Margaret  took  the  responsibility  of  purchasing 
a  house  in  Ellery  Street,  Cambridge  (now  No. 
8),  not  far  from  the  site  of  her  old  abode,  the 
Dana  House.  Here  they  lived  until  July,  1843, 
when  the  house  was  sold  ;  but  the  family,  now 
greatly  lessened,  bought  another  house  on  Pros 
pect  Street,  which  they  occupied 2  until  after 
Margaret  had  transferred  herself  to  New  York, 
in  the  autumn  of  1844,  to  begin  what  she  called 
her  "business  life."  But  before  passing  to  that, 
we  must  consider  the  various  literary  and  other 
enterprises  which  engrossed  her  about  this  time  ; 
and  meanwhile  this  record  of  suburban  life  may 
well  close  with  a  graphic  description  of  her  as 
she  seemed,  at  this  period  of  her  career,  to  a  child 
ish  neighbor,  who  writes  thus  to  me :  — 

"I  had  known  Miss  Fuller  in  my  childhood  when 
she  was  our  next-door  neighbor  in  Ellery  Street.  Cam 
bridge.  She  made  a  pet  of  me  ;  and  the  isolated  little 
German  girl  was  indebted  to  her  for  a  thousand  trifles 
that  make  a  child  happy.  I  often  sat  by  her  and  looked 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  425. 

2  Compare  Memoirs,  i.  319,  371,  382;  ii.  120. 


108  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

at  her  eyes  —  the  only  part  of  her  face  I  remember 

with  a  strong  fascination.  They  were  wide,  and  full, 
and  blue ;  whether  fine  or  not,  I  could  not  at  seven 
years  old  decide ;  but  they  always  seemed  to  look  far 
off,  out  of  and  beyond  the  story  she  was  telling  or  the 
picture  she  was  showing  me  ;  and  in  looking  at  her  eyes 
I  seemed  to  travel  with  her  fancy  through  fairy-land. 
She  was  very  sweet  and  good  to  me,  and  I  missed  her 
very  much  when,  after  a  time,  my  father  moved  to  Bos 
ton  and  I  could  no  longer  crawl  under  or  climb  over 
the  fence  to  my  Miss  Margaret ;  for  I  scorned  the  gate, 
which  was  just  as  near,  but  had  not  that  touch  of  ro 
mance." 


VIII. 

CONVEESATIONS  IN  BOSTON. 

IT  was  in  the  suburban  quiet  of  Jamaica  Plain 
that  the  project  of  holding  literary  conversations 
first  shaped  itself.  When  Madame  de  Stael  asked 
the  Comte  de  Se*gur  which  he  liked  best,  her  con 
versation  or  her  writings,  he  is  reported  to  have 
replied,  "  Your  conversation,  madame,  for  then 
you  have  not  the  leisure  to  become  obscure."  It 
was  really  in  the  effort  to  avoid  obscurity  and 
clarify  her  own  thoughts  that  Margaret  Fuller 
began  by  talking  instead  of  writing.  Conversa 
tions  on  literary  an$  philosophical  themes  have 
since  become  such  common  things,  that  we  can 
hardly  appreciate  the  sort  of  surprise  produced 
when  she  first  attempted  them.  It  fell  in  with 
the  convenient  theory  of  her  vanity  and  presump 
tion,  while  it  is  evident  from  her  own  diaries  that 
the  enterprise  was  undertaken  in  a  very  modest 
way.  She  felt  a  desire  to  do  her  part  in  the 
•world,  but  knew  herself  not  yet  mature  enough 
in  intellect  to  write,  even  if  there  were  any  peri 
odical  to  welcome  her.  Mere  talking,  which 
seemed  to  other  people  such  an  audacious  enter 
prise,  seemed  to  her  the  very  easiest  form  of  intel- 


HO  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

lectual  action.  Her  general  feeling  on  the  sub 
ject  is  best  to  be  seen  in  a  letter  written  a  few 
years  later  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing,  not  on 
this  express  theme,  but  in  regard  to  a  sermon 
that  she  had  just  heard  :  — 

"CAMBRIDGE,  February  27,  1843. 

..."  Many  thoughts  had  risen  in  my  mind  during 
the  discourse.  But  when  we  cannot  gratify  these 
wishes  to  express  ourselves,  it  is  probably  as  well.  If 
we  are  prevented  from  gathering  and  giving  away  the 
flower,  it  withers  indeed  unenjoyed,  but  leaves  a  seed 
on  the  stalk.  My  thoughts  generally  seem  too  slight 
or  too  much  in  need  of  more  to  be  written  down,  so  I 
like  to  speak  them,  but  if  they  lie  in  the  mind,  they  at 
tract  the  more  they  want.  Some  degree  of  expression 
is  necessary  for  growth,  but  it  should  be  little  in  propor 
tion  to  the  full  life. 

"  As  fire  lays  open,  and  the  plow  awakes  a  virgin 
soil,  successions  of  seeds  are  called  into  development, 
which  the  powers  of  nature  had  generated  in  different 
moods  and  left  there  in  the  cold  dark,  perhaps  for  ages, 
quite  forgotten.  So  shall  it  be  with  a  mind  that  works 
lonely,  unsolicited,  unutterable;  the  destined  hour  of 
tillage  shall  find  it  rich. 

"  I  will  rejoice  in  every  gladsome  spring  day,  eloquent 
with  blooms,  or  autumn  with  its  harvests,  but  the  silent 
fields  of  stubble  or  snow  shall  be  no  less  prized."  : 

In  this  letter  she  clearly  defines  the  power  of 
oral  utterance,  not  as  a  sign  of  supreme  strength, 
but  as  rather,  in  her  case  at  least,  a  resource  of 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  Ill 

weakness.  Longing  for  expression,  she  yet  finds 
her  thoughts,  she  says,  too  slight  or  inadequate  to 
be  written  down  ;  and  therefore  likes  to  speak 
them,  though  conscious  that  even  this  amount  of 
expression  may  not  always  be  an  advantage.  She 
is  going  through  the  experience,  in  short,  which 
all  thinkers  have  had,  and  which  her  favorite 
Goethe  has  best  formulated  "  Thought  expands, 
but  lames  ;  action  animates,  but  narrows." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  feeling  of  de 
sire  to  be  among  men  and  do  her  part,  rather 
than  linger  in  solitary  self-culture,  is  still  visible 
at  this  period.  For  instance,  after  spending  some 
delicious  days  about  this  time  with  her  friend 
Miss  Sturgis  on  the  Merrimack,  she  writes  :  — 

"  I  should  not  like  such  a  life  constantly.  There  are 
few  characters  so  vigorous  and  of  such  self-sustained 
self-impulse  that  they  do  not  need  frequent  and  unex 
pected  difficulties  to  awaken  and  keep  in  exercise  their 
powers." l 

Still  longing  for  action,  conscious  of  her  fitness 
for  it,  she  took  this  method  of  conversation  as  her 
best  way  of  bringing  to  bear  some  influence  upon 
her  age  and  time.  How  much  more  than  this  she 
desired  is  to  be  seen  in  this  fine  piece  of  aspiration 
occurring  in  a  letter  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Chan- 
ning :  — 

"  Like  a  desperate  gamester  I  feel,  at  moments,  as  I 
cling  to  the  belief  that  he  [the  Deity]  cannot  have  lost 
i  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  645. 


112  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLT. 

this  great  throw  of  Man,  when  the  lesser  hazards  have 
ended  so  successfully.  Men  disappoint  me  so,  I  disap 
point  myself  so,  yet  courage,  patience,  shuffle  the  cards, 
Durindarte.  There  was  an  Epaminondas,  a  Sidney,  — 
we  need  the  old  counters  still. 

%  "  I  wish  I  were  a  man,  and  then  there  would  be  one. 
I  weary  in  this  play-ground  of  boys,  proud  and  happy 
in  their  balls  and  marbles.  Give  me  heroes,  poets,  law 
givers,  Men. 

"  There  are  women  much  less  unworthy  to  live  than 
you,  Men ;  the  best  are  so  unripe,  the  wisest  so  ignoble, 
the  truest  so  cold ! 

"  Divine  Spirit,  I  pray  thee,  grow  out  into  our  age 
before  I  leave  it.  I  pray,  I  prophesy,  I  trust,  yet  I 
pine."1 

With  these  strong  aspirations,  she  was  not  con 
tent  to  do  nothing,  and  she  could  at  least  talk. 
The  conversations  did  not  begin  with  the  blowing 
of  a  trumpet ;  there  was  not  even  a  printed  circu 
lar,  but  only  a  manuscript  letter  to  her  friend, 
Mrs.  Ripley,  of  which  the  following  is  a  part :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  feel  it  more  difficult  to  give 
on  paper  a  complete  outline  of  my  plan  for  the  proposed 
conversations  than  I  expected.  I  find  so  much  to  say 
that  I  cannot  make  any  statement  satisfactory  to  my 
self,  within  such  limits  as  would  be  convenient  for  your 
purpose.  As  no  one  will  wish  to  take  the  trouble  of 
reading  a  long  manuscript,  I  shall  rather  suggest  than 
tell  what  I  propose  to  do,  and  defer  a  full  explanation 
till  the  first  meeting.  The  advantages  of  a  weekly 
meeting  for  conversation  might  be  great  enough  to 
1  MS.  (W.  H.  C.),  Sunday,  February  21.  1841. 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  113 

repay  attendance,  if  they  consisted  only  in  supplying  a 
point  of  union  to  well-educated  and  thinking  women,  in 
a  city  which,  with  great  pretensions  to  mental  refine 
ment,  boasts  at  present  nothing  of  the  kind ;  and  where 
I  have  heard  many  of  mature  age  wish  for  some  such 
place  of  stimulus  and  cheer ;  and  those  younger,  for  a 
place  where  they  could  state  their  doubts  and  difficul 
ties,  with  a  hope  of  gaining  aid  from  the  experience  or 
aspirations  of  others.  And  if  my  office  were  only  to 
suggest  topics,  which  would  lead  to  conversation  of  a 
better  order  than  is  usual  at  social  meetings,  and  to  turn 
back  the  current  when  digressing  into  personalities  or 
commonplaces,  so  that  what  is  most  valuable  in  the 
experience  of  each  might  be  brought  to  bear  upon  all, 
I  should  think  the  object  not  unworthy  of  the  effort. 
But  my  ambition  goes  much  farther.  It  is  to  pass  in 
review  the  departments  of  thought  and  knowledge,  and 
endeavor  to  place  them  in  due  relation  to  one  another 
in  our  mind.  To  systematize  thought  and  give  a  preci 
sion  and  clearness  in  which  our  sex  are  so  deficient, 
chiefly,  I  think,  because  they  have  so  few  inducements 
to  test  and  classify  what  they  receive.  To  ascertain 
what  pursuits  are  best  suited  to  us,  in  our  time  and  state 
of  society,  and  how  we  may  make  the  best  use  of  our 
means  for  building  up  the  life  of  thought  upon  the  life 
of  action.  .  .  . 

"  I  believe  I  have  written  as  much  as  any  one  will 
wish  to  read.  I  am  ready  to  answer  any  questions 
which  may  be  put,  and  will  add  nothing  more  here 
except,  Always  yours  truly, 

"  S.  M.  FULLER."  1 

The  conversations  began  November  6,  1839,  at 
1  MS. 


114  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Miss  Peabody's  rooms  in  West  Street  —  those 
rooms  where  many  young  men  and  women  found, 
both  then  and  at  a  later  day,  the  companionship 
of  cultivated  people,  and  the  best  of  French,  Ger 
man,  Italian,  and  English  literature.  The  con 
versations  continued  for  five  winters,  closing  in 
April,  1844.  Their  theory  was  not  high-flown 
but  eminently  sensible,  being  based  expressly  on 
the  ground  stated  in  the  circular,  that  the  chief 
disadvantage  of  women  in  regard  to  study  was 
in  not  being  called  upon,  like  men,  to  reproduce 
in  some  way  what  they  had  learned.  As  a  sub 
stitute  for  this  she  proposed  to  try  the  uses  of 
conversation,  to  be  conducted  in  a  somewhat  sys 
tematic  way,  under  efficient  leadership.  Accord 
ingly  these  meetings,  although  taking  a  wide 
range,  were  always  concentrated,  and  with  a  good 
deal  of  effect,  on  certain  specified  subjects  ;  the 
most  prominent  of  these  being,  perhaps,  that  of 
Mythology,  or  the  reappearance  of  religious  ideas 
under  varying  forms.  It  is  a  theme  which  has 
since  assumed  great  importance  and  commanded 
a  literature  of  its  own ;  but  it  was  then  new,  and 
had  to  be  studied  at  great  disadvantage.  Through 
early  versions  of  the  "  Bhagvat  Geeta  "  and  the 
"  Desatir,"  Margaret  Fuller  had  made  advances 
into  this  realm :  and  for  her,  as  for  her  early  com 
panion  and  life-long  friend,  Lydia  Maria  Child,  it 
had  great  fascinations.  She  writes  in  her  jour- 
nal,  for  instance  (February  21, 1841)  :  — 

"  This  Hindoo    mythology  is  like  an  Indian  jungle, 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  115 

The  growth  is  too  luxuriant  for  beauty  and  leaves  a  lair 
for  monsters.  Being  cleared  away,  here  is  an  after- 
growth  of  fair  proportioned  trees,  and  beauteous  flow 
ers,  the  Greek  myths. 

"  Oh,  Nature,  —  History  of  man,  last  birth  of  Na 
ture,  —  how  I  see  the  fibres  of  God  woven  all  through 
every  part  as  far  as  the  eye  can  stretch  ! "  l 

While  Mrs.  Child  was  making  preparations  to 
develop  this  new  thought  in  her  "  Progress  of 
Religious  Ideas,"  Margaret  Fuller  made  it  a  fre 
quent  theme  of  her  conversations ;  beginning  with 
the  Greek  mythology,  and  following  up  with  illus 
trations  from  other  sources,  the  rich  materials  for 
which  are  scattered  everywhere  in  her  note-books. 
In  later  years,  however,  following  the  constant 
current  which  led  her  toward  life  and  action,  she 
had  for  her  themes  a  variety  of  points  in  ethics 
and  education. 

The  usual  hour  for  these  conversations  was 
eleven  in  the  morning.  The  persons  present  were 
usually  twenty-five  or  thirty  in  number,  rarely 
less,  sometimes  more  ;  and  they  were  among  the 
most  alert  and  active-minded  women  in  Boston. 
Ten  or  a  dozen,  besides  Miss  Fuller,  usually  took 
actual  part  in  the  talk.  Her  method  was  to 
begin  each  subject  with  a  short  introduction, 
giving  the  outline  of  the  subject,  and  suggesting 
the  most  effective  points  of  view.  This  done,  she 
invited  questions  or  criticisms  :  if  these  lagged, 
she  put  questions  herself,  using  persuasion  for  the 
i  MS. 


116  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

timid,  kindly  raillery  for  the  indifferent.  There 
was  always  a  theme,  and  a  thread.  One  whole 
winter  was  devoted  —  through  thirteen  conversa 
tions  —  to  the  Fine  Arts ;  another  to  Ethics,  in 
different  applications  ;  another  to  Education,  in 
various  respects  ;  another  to  the  proper  influence 
of  women  on  family,  school,  church,  society,  and 
literature.  On  some  of  these  subjects  she  had,  in 
her  circle,  undoubted  experts,  who  knew  on  cer 
tain  particular  points  more  than  she  did.  Of  these 
she  availed  herself,  but  kept  the  reins  in  her  own 
hands.  We  all  know  that  the  best-planned  talk 
is  a  lottery;  to-day  blanks,  to-morrow  prizes; 
and  there  were  times  when  the  leader  could 
bring  out  no  cooperation,  and  had  to  fall  back  on 
monologue.  But  this  was  not  common,  and  even 
the  imperfect  fragments  in  the  way  of  report  given 
by  Mr.  Emerson  in  the  "  Memoirs  "  1  are  enough 
to  show  the  general  success  of  these  occasions. 
When  the  subject  was  "  Life,"  and  she  called 
upon  one  of  her  favorite  pupils  to  answer,  "What 
is  life  ?  "  the  lively  girl  replied,  "  It  is  to  laugh  or 
cry,  according  to  our  constitution."  In  such  a 
repartee,  we  can  see  that  the  most  philosophic 
teacher  met  her  match  and  had  original  minds  to 
deal  with.  Yet,  after  all,  reports  of  conversation 
are  failures  ;  and  in  this  case  their  defects  can 
only  be  supplied  by  more  general  reminiscences 
from  pupils  or  friends,  trying  to  give  the  secret  of 
her  acknowledged  power.  Two  of  these  testimo* 

1  Memoirs,  i.  324. 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  117 

nials  I  shall  cite ;  the  first  from  one  of  her  life 
long  intimates,  —  an  artist  by  profession  and  a 
woman  of  singularly  clear  and  dispassionate  na 
ture, —  Miss  Sarah  Freeman  Clarke  :  — 

"  In  looking  for  the  causes  of  the  great  influence 
possessed  by  Margaret  Fuller  over  her  pupils,  compan 
ions,  and  friends,  I  find  something  in  the  fact  of  her  un 
usual  truth-speaking  power.  She  not  only  did  not 
speak  lies  after  our  foolish  social  customs,  but  she  met 
you  fairly.  She  broke  her  lance  upon  your  shield. 
Encountering  her  glance,  something  like  an  electric 
shock  was  felt.  Her  eye  pierced  through  your  dis 
guises.  Your  outworks  fell  before  her  first  assault,  and 
you  were  at  her  mercy.  And  then  began  the  delight  of 
true  intercourse.  Though  she  spoke  rudely  searching 
words,  and  told  you  startling  truths,  though  she  broke 
down  your  little  shams  and  defenses,  you  felt  exhil 
arated  by  the  compliment  of  being  found  out,  and  even 
that  she  had  cared  to  find  you  out.  I  think  this  was 
what  attracted  or  bound  us  to  her.  We  expected  good 
from  such  a  new  condition  of  our  relations,  and  good 
usually  came  of  it. 

"  No  woman  ever  had  more  true  lovers  among  those 
of  her  own  sex,  and  as  many  men  she  also  numbered 
among  her  friends.  She  had  an  immense  appetite  for 
social  intercourse.  When  she  met  a  new  person  she 
met  him  courageously,  sincerely,  and  intimately.  She 
did  not  study  him  to  see  beforehand  how  he  might  bear 
the  shock  of  truth,  but  offered  her  best  of  direct  speech 
at  once.  Some  could  not  or  would  not  hear  it,  arid 
turned  away  ;  but  often  came  back  for  more,  and  some 
of  these  became  her  fast  friends. 


118  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

"  Many  of  us  recoiled  from  her  at  first ;  we  feared 
her  too  powerful  dominion  over  us,  but  as  she  was  pow 
erful,  so  she  was  tender ;  as  she  was  exacting,  she  was 
generous.  She  demanded  our  best,  and  she  gave  us 
her  best.  To  be  with  her  was  the  most  powerful  stim 
ulus,  intellectual  and  moral.  It  was  like  the  sun  shin 
ing  upon  plants  and  causing  buds  to  open  into  flow 
ers.  This  was  her  gift,  and  she  could  no  more  help 
exercising  it  than  the  sun  can  help  shining.  This  gift, 
acting  with  a  powerful  understanding  and  a  generous 
imagination,  you  can  perceive  would  make  an  educa 
tional  force  of  great  power.  Few  or  none  could  escape 
on  whom  she  chose  to  exercise  it.  Of  her  methods  of 
education  she  speaks  thus  simply  :  — 

" '  I  have  immediate  and  invariable  power  over  the 
minds  of  my  pupils  ;  my  wish  has  been  more  and  more 
to  purify  my  own  conscience  when  near  them,  to  give 
clear  views  of  the  aims  of  this  life,  to  show  them  where 
the  magazines  of  knowledge  lie,  and  to  leave  the  rest  to 
themselves  and  the  spirit  that  must  teach  and  help  them 
to  self  impulse/ 

" '  The  best  that  we  receive  from  anything  can  never 
be  written.  For  it  is  not  the  positive  amount  of 
thought  that  we  have  received,  but  the  virtue  that  has 
flowed  into  us,  and  is  now  us,  that  is  precious.  If  we 
can  tell  no  one  thought,  yet  are  higher,  larger,  wiser, 
the  work  is  done.  The  best  part  of  life  is  too  spiritual 
to  bear  recording.'  "  l 

Another  friend  equally  warm,  and  also  of  judi 
cial  nature,  has  borne  her  testimony  to  the  value 
of  tbese  conversations  in  terms  so  admirable  that 
they  must  be  cited.     This  is  the  late  Elizabeth 
1  MS. 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  119 

Hoar,  of  whom  Emerson  once  wrote  :  "  Elizabeth 
consecrates ;  I  have  no  friend  whom  I  more  wisl> 
to  be  immortal  than  she."  A  letter  has  already 
been  quoted  from  this  noble  woman,  describing 
her  first  impressions  of  Margaret  Fuller  at  Con 
cord  ;  and  the  following  fragment  gives  her  ma- 
turer  opinion  :  — 

"  Her  friends  were  a  necklace  of  diamonds  about  her 
neck.  The  confidences  given  her  were  their  best,  and 
she  held  them  to  them ;  the  honor  of  the  conversa 
tions  was  the  high  tone  of  sincerity  and  culture  from  so 
many  consenting  individuals,  and  Margaret  was  the  key 
stone  of  the  whole.  She  was,  perhaps,  impatient  of 
complacency  in  people  who  thought  they  had  claims, 
and  stated  their  contrary  opinion  with  an  air.  For  such 
she  had  no  mercy.  But,  though  not  agreeable,  it  was 
just.  And  so  her  enemies  were  made."  ] 

To  show  that  Margaret  Fuller  encountered 
among  her  friends  and  pupils  natures  as  heroic  as 
her  own,  I  will  yield  to  the  temptation  of  quoting 
a  passage  from  another  letter  of  this  same  lady ; 
a  bit  of  philosophy  as  fine  as  any  that  one  finds  in 
Epictetus  or  Antoninus,  —  stoicism  in  this  case 
softened  and  enriched  by  Christianity  without  los 
ing  a  fibre  of  its  force  :  — 

"  When  I  was  a  little  one  I  suffered  agonies  of  terror 
at  the  barking  of  a  dog,  yet  was  ashamed  to  run  away 
and  avoid  passing  him.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  my 
thought,  *  What  is  it  to  fear  ?  That  the  dog  should  bite 
me  —  should  inflict  just  so  much  pain  as  a  dog's  bite 
i  MS. 


120  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

can,  upon  me.  Well,  I  can  bear  so  much  pain  bravely, 
I  am  sure,  so  I  will  take  no  further  thought  about  it, 
but  walk  boldly  on,  and  be  ready  for  the  bite  when  it 
comes '  —  and  my  fear  was  gone.  The  story  sounds  tri 
fling,  but  it  is  not  so  in  my  life,  because  the  philosophy 
I  learned  from  that  moment's  thought  has  been  of  so 
much  use  to  me  since,  in  carrying  me  straight  up  to  the 
ghosts  of  possible  evils,  showing  their  real  power.  And 
better  than  this  philosophy  is  the  trust  which,  by  '  always 
thinking  unto  it/  we  hope  to  make  our  home  —  the  as 
surance  that  we  might  and  surely  shall  be  so  cared  for 
as  we  could  not  care  for  ourselves."  1 

It  is  evident,  from  Margaret  Fuller's  letters, 
that  the  effect  of  these  occasions  on  herself  varied 
with  mood,  health,  and  external  influences.  She 
enjoyed  with  eagerness  the  intellectual  exercise ; 
she  felt  that  she  was,  perhaps,  doing  some  good ; 
and  the  longing  for  affection,  which  was  one  of 
the  strongest  traits  of  her  nature,  was  gratified  by 
the  warm  allegiance  of  her  pupils.  She  went  back 
to  Jamaica  Plain,  every  now  and  then,  to  rest, 
and,  while  rejoicing  in  that  respite,  still  felt  that 
her  field  was  action,  and  that  she  could  not,  like 
Mr.  Emerson,  withdraw  from  the  world  to  a  quiet 
rural  home.  She  wrote  thus,  on  one  occasion,  to 
the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing  :  — 

"I0th  December,  1840. 

"  Two  days  in  Boston  ;  how  the  time  flies  there  and 

bears  no  perfume  on  its  wings,  —  I  am   always  most 

happy  to  return  to  my  solitude,  yet  willing  to  bear  the 

contact  of  society,  with  all  its  low  views  and  rash  blame, 

i  MS. 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  121 

for  I  see  how  the  purest  ideal  natures  need  it  to  temper 
them  and  keep  them  large  and  sure.  I  will  never  do  as 
"Waldo  [Emerson]  does,  though  I  marvel  not  at  him." 1 

The  tone  of  this  passage  is  saddened,  no  doubt, 
by  some  ungenerous  criticisms  upon  herself  and 
one  of  her  favorite  pupils,  which  she  goes  on  to 
refute  in  detail,  ending  in  the  following  high  tone 
of  aspiration :  — 

"  How,  when  I  hear  such  things,  I  bless  God  for 
awakening  my  inward  life.  In  me,  my  Father,  thou 
wouldst  not,  I  feel,  permit  such  blindness.  Free  them 
also,  help  me  to  free  them,  from  this  conventional  stand 
ard,  by  means  of  which  their  eyes  are  holden  that  they 
see  not.  Let  me,  by  purity  and  freedom,  teach  them 
justice,  not  only  to  my  individual  self, — of  that  small 
part  of  myself  I  am  utterly  careless,  —  but  to  this  ever- 
flowing  Spirit.  Oh,  must  its  pure  breath  pass  them 

by?"2 

The  criticisms  which  her  conversations  brought 
upon  themselves,  in  their  day,  were  mostly  so 
trivial  that  they  are  not  now  worth  recalling ; 
but  there  has  been  one  curious  effort  to  pervert 
these  occasions  from  their  true  character,  and  this 
occurs  in  the  posthumous  autobiography  of  a 
woman  of  great  prominence,  who  had,  at  one  time, 
a  distinct  influence  over  Margaret  Fuller.  Post 
humous  attacks  are  always  the  hardest  to  meet, 
because  in  them  the  accuser  still  lives  and  testifies 
without  cross-examination,  while  it  often  happens 
that  the  accused  and  his  witnesses  are  alike  dead, 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.J  a  MS.  (W.  H  C.) 


122  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

In  this  case  the  charge  has  an  especial  interest, 
because  Margaret  Fuller  lived  in  the  day  when  a 
great  moral  agitation  was  beginning  to  sweep  over 
the  land,  and  she,  like  all  her  contemporaries, 
must  be  judged  in  part  by  the  test  it  applied. 

It  "is  a  point  never  yet  wholly  cleared  up,  either 
by  her  printed  memoirs  or  private  letters,  why 
she  entered  with  somewhat  tardy  sympathy  into 
the  anti-slavery  movement.  Her  personal  friends 
were  identified  with  it,  including  Dr.  Channing, 
and  more  especially  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ellis  Gray 
Loring  ;  also  her  nearest  intimates  of  her  own 
age,  Messrs.  Clarke  and  Channing.  Miss  Marti- 
neau,  whom  she  admired,  had  entered  ardently 
into  it ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  agitation  in  re 
gard  to  the  annexation  of  Texas  in  1844  that 
Miss  Fuller  was  strongly  aroused  in  regard  to  the 
encroachments  of  slavery.  It  is  possible  that  the 
influence  of  her  father,  as  a  Jeffersonian  Demo 
crat,  worked  the  other  way ;  yet  he  had  opposed 
the  Missouri  Compromise  of  1820 ;  and  the  anti- 
slavery  tradition  was  strong  in  the  family.  It  cer 
tainly  was  not  the  social  influence  of  those  who 
belonged  to  her  classes  and  came  to  her  conver 
sations,  for  their  influence  tended,  as  will  be  pres 
ently  shown,  in  a  different  direction. 

In  her  diary  of  1844,  she  wrote  as  follows :  — 

"  Mrs.  Loring  here.  They  want  something  of  me 
about  Texas.  Went  to  walk,  but  could  not  think 
about  it.  I  don't  like  to  do  anything  else  just  yet,  don't 
feel  ready.  I  never  can  do  well  more  than  one  thing  at 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  123 

a  time,  and  the  least  thing  costs  me  so  much  thought 
and  feeling  ;  others  have  no  idea  of  it." 1 

Afterwards  she  wrote  :  — 

"  Might  not  we  women  do  something  in  regard  to  this 
Texas  annexation  project  ?  I  have  never  felt  that  I 
had  any  call  to  take  part  in  public  affairs  before ;  but 
this  is  a  great  moral  question,  and  we  have  an  obvious 
right  to  express  our  convictions.  I  should  like  to  con 
vene  meetings  everywhere  and  take  our  stand."  2 

I  wish  to  dwell  especially  on  this  aspect  of  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  position,  because  it  has  been  so  very 
unjustly  dealt  with  in  that  singularly  harsh  and 
unfair  book,  the  "  Autobiography  of  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau."  At  the  time  when  Miss  Martineau's 
"  Society  in  America  "  was  published,  Margaret 
Fuller  wrote  her  a  letter  on  the  subject  —  a  letter 
of  great  dignity  and  courage.  There  is  in  it  no 
conceit,  no  arrogance,  but  only  courteous,  deferen 
tial  protest.  It  is  not  written  de  haut  en  bas,  but 
de  bas  en  haut.  In  it  she  points  out  that  one 
may  criticise  even  one's  superiors :  — 

"  There  are  many  topics  treated  of  in  this  book  of 
which  I  am  not  a  judge  ;  but  I  do  pretend,  even  where 
I  cannot  criticise  in  detail,  to  have  an  opinion  as  to  the 
general  tone  of  thought.  .  .  .  When  Webster  speaks 
on  the  currency,  I  do  not  understand  the  subject,  but  I 
do  understand  his  mode  of  treating  it,  and  can  see  what 
a  blaze  of  light  streams  from  his  torch.  When  Harriet 
Martineau  writes  about  America,  I  often  cannot  test 
that  rashness  and  inaccuracy  of  which  I  hear  so  much, 
l  MS.  Diary,  1844.  2  Memoirs,  I  141. 


124  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

but  I  can  feel  that  they  exist.  A  Want  of  soundness,  of 
habits  of  patient  investigation,  of  completeness,  of 
arrangement,  are  felt  throughout  the  book,  and,  for  all 
its  fine  descriptions  of  scenery,  breadth  of  reasoning, 
and  generous  daring,  I  cannot  be  happy  in  it,  because  it 
is  not  worthy  of  my  friend  ;  and  I  think  a  few  months 
given  to  ripen  it,  to  balance,  compare,  and  mellow, 
would  have  made  it  so." l 

And  when  Miss  Fuller  came  to  touch  the  vexed 
question  of  the  anti-slavery  movement  in  Amer 
ica,  as  treated  by  Miss  Martineau,  she  simply 
wrote  thus :  — 

"  I  do  not  like  that  your  book  should  be  an  '  aboli 
tion  '  book.  You  might  have  borne  your  testimony  as 
decidedly  as  you  pleased ;.  but  why  leaven  the  whole 
book  with  it  ?  This  subject  haunts  us  on  almost  every 
page.  It  is  a  great  subject,  but  your  book  had  other 
purposes  to  fulfill."  2 

This  was  the  head  and  front  of  Miss  Fuller's 
offending.  But  Miss  Martineau's  reference  to 
this  letter  gives  her  the  opportunity  for  one  of 
those  curious  examples  of  failing  memory  and  un 
failing  self-confidence  which  were  pointed  out,  by 
the  reviewers  of  her  "  Autobiography,"  at  the  time 
of  its  publication.  She  describes  the  communica 
tion  as  a  letter  which  Miss  Fuller  "  declares  she 
sent  her,"  but  she  can  only  recall  having  received 
a  very  different  letter  and  one  "  quite  unworthy 
of  the  writer."  3  Yet  Miss  Martineau  had  herself 

l  Memoirs,  i.  193.  2  Memoirs,  i.  194. 

8  Harriet  Martineau's  Autobiography,  i.  381. 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  125 

made  an  entry  in  her  own  diary  for  November, 
1839,  —  quoted  by  Mrs.  Chapman  in  her  appen 
dix  ; l  and  this  record  says  of  the  letter  then  re 
ceived  :  — 

"  Tuesday.  An  immense  letter  from  Margaret  Ful 
ler.  Sad  about  herself,  and  very  severe  on  my  book ; 
—  righteously  so,  but  with  much  mistake  in  it.  The 
spirit  is  very  noble.  Do  I  improve  in  courage  about 
learning  the  consequences  of  what  I  do  ?  I  commit  my 
self  boldly,  but  I  suffer  a  good  deal.  But  I  do  not  think 
I  go  back.  I  suffered  a  good  deal  from  her  letter." 

Now  if  the  letter  thus  described  was  not  the 
letter  which  Margaret  Fuller  "declared  she  sent," 
what  was  it  ?  It  certainly  was  not  that  "  unwor 
thy"  letter  which  Miss  Martineau  imputes  to  her, 
or  it  would  not  have  been  praised  so  highly.  The 
fact  is  that  the  letter  which  Miss  Martineau  had 
characterized  at  the  time  as  "  very  noble  "  she 
afterwards  so  far  forgets  as  to  insinuate  that  it 
never  was  really  sent ;  but  she  remembers  an  "  un 
worthy"  letter,  about  which  she  gives  no  partis 
ulars  and  of  whose  existence  there  is  no  other  me 
morial. 

As  to  the  letter  itself,  there  is  nothing  unrea 
sonable  in  it ;  nothing  which  history  has  not  con 
firmed.  Miss  Martineau's  self-identification  with 
the  abolitionists  was  courageous  and  noble,  but 
the  habitual  exaggeration  of  her  mental  action, 
and  her  liability  to  error  through  her  tempera 
ment  and  her  deafness,  followed  her  into  this 
1  Harriet  Martineau's  Autobiography,  ii.  319. 


126  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

sphere  also.  Her  "  Martyr  Age  in  the  United 
States "  will  always  remain  the  most  dramatic 
picture  of  the  whole  period  she  depicted.  The 
difficulty  is  that  it  is  not  only  dramatic  but 
slightly  melodramatic  ;  there  is  a  theatrical  tinge 
in  it  all ;  every  man  she  describes  is  faultless, 
every  woman  a  queen ;  and  even  those  who,  like 
myself,  knew  and  reverenced  these  heroes  and  her 
oines,  must  admit  this  tone  of  excess.  It  was  the 
same  with  her  larger  book.  She  saw  the  sin 
which  was  nearest,  and  painted  it ;  but  she  saw 
little  else.  Now  that  slavery  is  abolished  "  Soci 
ety  in  America  "  is  obsolete  ;  while  De  Tocque- 
ville's  work,  written  earlier,  is  still  a  classic,  and 
is  frequently  cited  in  regard  to  the  questions  that 
are  before  us  to-day. 

All  this  prepares  us  for  Miss  Martineau's  curi 
ous  and  —  as  the  facts  prove  —  utterly  unfair  crit 
icisms  upon  Margaret  Fuller's  conversations.  She 
thus  describes  them  :  — 

"  The  difference  between  us  was  that  while  she  was 
living  and  moving  in  an  ideal  world,  talking  in  private 
and  discoursing  in  public  about  the  most  fanciful  and 
shallow  conceits  which  the  Transcendentalists  of  Boston 
took  for  philosophy,  she  looked  down  upon  persons  who 
acted  instead  of  talking  finely,  and  devoted  their  for 
tunes,  their  peace,  their  repose,  and  their  very  lives  to 
the  preservation  of  the  principles  of  the  republic.  While 
Margaret  Fuller  and  her  adult  pupils  sat  *  gorgeously 
dressed,'  talking  about  Mars  and  Venus,  Plato  and 
Goethe,  and  fancying  themselves  the  elect  of  the  earth 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  127 

in  intellect  and  refinement,  the  liberties  of  the  republic 
were  running  out  as  fast  as  they  could  go,  at  a  breach 
which  another  sort  of  elect  persons  were  devoting  them 
selves  to  repair ;  and  my  complaint  against  the  *  gor 
geous  '  pedants  was  that  they  regarded  their  preservers 
as  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water,  and  their  work 
as  a  less  vital  one  than  the  pedantic  orations  which 
were  spoiling  a  set  of  well-meaning  women  in  a  pitiable 
way/'  * 

To  those  of  us  who  recall  the  plain  Boston  of 
those  days  there  is  something  quite  unexpected  in 
thus  fastening  upon  Margaret  Fuller's  circle  the 
sin  of  gorgeousness.  Whence  came  this  vehe 
ment  epithet,  so  hopelessly  inconsistent  with  the 
well-kept  black  silk  or  modest  alpaca  of  that 
period.  It  apparently  came  from  the  exuberant 
phrase  of  one  young  admirer  quoted  in  the  "  Mem 
oirs  "  of  Margaret  Fuller,  who  went  so  far  as  to 
say  of  her  idol,  "  Margaret  used  to  come  to  the 
conversations  very  well  dressed,  and  altogether 
looked  sumptuously."  2  Even  sumptuousness,  it 
might  be  said,  is  not  gorgeousness ;  and  there  were, 
moreover,  young  girls  in  Boston  to  whom  what 
has  since  been  called  "  the  gospel  of  good  gowns  " 
was  then  very  imperfectly  revealed,  and  who  so 
adored  their  teacher  that  she  would  have  looked 
superbly  in  her  oldest  Groton  wardrobe  ;  just  as 
when  she  was  fifteen,  the  younger  school  girls  ad 
mired  her  way  of  coming  into  school  and  her  half- 

1  Autobiography  of  Harriet  Martineau,  i.  381. 

2  Memoirs,  I  336. 


128  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

shut  eyes.  So  much  for  the  gorgeousness;  and  as 
to  the  real  charge,  it  requires  only  the  very  plain 
est  comparison  of  Miss  Martineau's  own  state 
ments  to  correct  them.  She  says  that  while  Mar 
garet  Fuller  and  her  pupils  were  doing  so  and  so, 
another  sort  of  elect  persons,  whom  the  first  set 
despised,  were  saving  the  nation.  The  curious 
fact  is  that  all  this  antagonism  lies  wholly  in  Miss 
Martineau's  imagination,  and  that  the  two  sets 
were  almost  identically  the  same.  It  is  easy  to 
show  that  the  "  spoiled  women  "  of  Margaret's 
classes  were  the  very  women  who  were  fighting 
Miss  Martineau's  battles. 

The  only  list  known  to  me  of  any  of  these 
classes  is  that  given  in  Miss  Fuller's  "  Memoirs."  l 
It  contains  forty-three  names.  Among  these  are 
to  be  found  the  two  women  who  taught  Miss 
Martineau  her  first  lessons  in  abolitionism  on  her 
arrival  in  America :  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child  and 
Mrs.  Ellis  Gray  Loring.  The  list  comprises  the 
wives  of  Emerson  and  Parker  and  the  high-minded 
Maria  White  who  afterwards,  as  the  wife  of  Low 
ell,  did  much  to  make  him  an  abolitionist ;  it  in 
cludes  the  only  daughter  of  Dr.  Channing ;  it  com 
prises  Miss  Littlehale,  now  Mrs.  Ednah  D.  Che 
ney  ;  it  includes  many  family  names  identified 
with  the  anti-slavery  movement  in  Boston  and 
vicinity  from  its  earliest  to  its  latest  phase ;  such 
names  as  Channing,  Clarke,  Hooper,  Hoar,  Lee, 
Peabody,  Quincy,  Russell,  Shaw,  Sturgis.  These 
i  i.  338,  note. 


CONVERSATIONS  IN  BOSTON.  129 

names  form,  indeed,  the  great  majority  of  the  list, 
while  not  a  person  appears  on  it  who  was  conspic 
uously  opposed  to  the  anti-slavery  agitation.  Miss 
Martineau's  extraordinary  mistake  simply  calls  at 
tention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  not  upon  pedants  or 
dreamers,  but  upon  the  women  who  led  the  phil 
anthropic  thought  and  action  of  Boston,  that  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  influence  was  brought  to  bear.  She 
did  not  at  this  time  appreciate  Garrison  ;  she  after 
wards  lamented  in  Italy  that  she  had  not  appre 
ciated  him  better ;  but  she  helped  to  train  many 
of  the  women  who  learned  his  lessons  and  stood 
by  his  side.  That  these  conversations  served  as  a 
moral  —  even  more  than  as  a  mental  —  tonic  is  the 
uniform  testimony  of  all  who  took  part  in  them ; 
and  the  later  career  of  these  participants  shows 
how  well  the  work  was  done. 
9 


IX. 

A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN. 

APART  from  every  word  she  ever  wrote,  Mar 
garet  Fuller  will  always  be  an  important  figure  in 
American  history,  for  this  plain  reason :  that  she 
was  the  organizer  and  executive  force  of  the  first 
thoroughly  American  literary  enterprise.  The  in 
tellectual  and  spiritual  excitement,  popularly  called 
"  Transcendentalism,"  had  at  least  this  one  merit, 
that,  whatever  else  it  was,  it  was  indigenous.  To 
determine  its  real  worth  and  weight,  beyond  this, 
we  must  go  back  to  the  "  Dial."  That  is  its  only 
authentic  record.  To  know  what  Emerson  indi 
vidually  was,  we  can  go  to  his  books  ;  it  is  the 
same  with  Parker,  Thoreau,  Alcott.  But  what  it 
was  which  united  these  diverse  elements,  what  was 
their  central  spirit,  what  their  collective  strength 
or  weakness,  their  maximum  and  minimum,  their 
high  and  low  water  mark,  this  must  be  sought  in 
the  "  Dial."  That  was  the  alembic  within  which 
they  were  all  distilled,  and  the  priestess  who  su 
perintended  this  intellectual  chemic  process  hap 
pened  to  be  Margaret  Fuller.  It  is  a  curious  fact 
that  this  aspect  of  her  life  —  being  that  which 
will,  on  the  whole,  make  her  most  interesting  to 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         131 

coming  generations  —  occupies  but  two  pages  and 
a  half  in  the  two  volumes  of  her  published  mem 
oirs.  It  will  be  the  duty  of  the  present  biogra 
pher,  in  view  of  the  plan  which  directs  this  liter 
ary  series,  to  dwell  more  fully  on  this  aspect  of 
her  life. 

We  can  now  see  that  a  great  deal  of  unneces 
sary  sympathy  used  to  be  wasted  on  our  Amer 
ican  writers  of  fifty  years  ago.  It  was  habitually 
taken  for  granted  that  they  lived  on  a  peculiarly 
barren  soil,  and  that  especial  credit  was  to  be  al 
lowed  them  if  they  accomplished  anything  at  all. 
The  concession  was  quite  needless.  They  un 
doubtedly  had  nature  and  their  own  souls  to  draw 
upon;  they  had  few  books,  but  those  were  the 
best ;  they  had  some  remote  glimpse  of  art  through 
engravings,  at  least ;  they  had  around  them  the 
inspiration  of  a  great  republic,  visibly  destined  to 
overspread  a  continent ;  and  they  had  two  or  three 
centuries  of  romantic  and  picturesque  pioneer  his 
tory  behind  them.  We  now  recognize  that  Irving, 
Cooper,  Bryant,  Whittier  did  not  create  their  ma 
terial  ;  they  simply  used  what  they  found  ;  and 
Longfellow's  fame  did  not  become  assured  till  he 
turned  from  Bruges  and  Nuremberg,  and  chose 
his  theme  among  the  exiles  of  Acadia.  It  was 
not  Irving  who  invested  the  Hudson  with  romance, 
but  the  Hudson  that  inspired  Irving.  In  1786, 
when  Mrs.  Josiah  Quincy,  then  a  young  girl,  sailed 
up  that  river  in  s.  sloop,  she  wrote  :  "  Our  captain 
had  a  legend  for  every  scene,  either  supernatural 


132  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

or  traditional,  or  of  actual  occurrence  during  the 
war  ;  and  not  a  mountain  reared  its  head,  uncon 
nected  with  some  marvelous  story."  Irving  was 
then  a  child  of  three  years  old,  but  Rip  Van  Win 
kle  and  Ichabod  Crane  —  or  their  equivalents  — 
were  already  on  the  spot,  waiting  for  some  one  of 
sufficient  literary  talent  to  tell  their  tale. 

Margaret  Fuller  grew  up  at  a  time  when  our 
literature  was  still  essentially  colonial ;  not  for 
want  of  material,  but  for  want  of  self-confidence. 
As  Theodore  Parker  said  in  his  vigorous  vernacu 
lar,  somewhat  later,  the  cultivated  American  lit 
erature  was  exotic,  and  the  native  literature  was 
"  rowdy,"  consisting  mainly  of  campaign  squibs, 
coarse  satire,  and  frontier  jokes.1  Children  were 
reared,  from  the  time  they  learned  their  letters, 
on  Miss  Edge  worth  and  Mrs.  Trimmer,  whose 
books,  otherwise  excellent,  were  unconsciously  sat 
urated  with  social  conventionalisms  and  distinc 
tions  quite  foreign  to  our  society.  Mrs.  Lydia 
Maria  Child,  the  leader  in  the  now  vast  field  of 
American  literature  for  children,  —  and  afterwards 
one  of  the  leaders  in  that  other  experiment  of  the 
American  novel,  —  was  then  a  young  woman,  and 
the  fellow-student  of  Margaret  Fuller.  Charles 
Brockden  Brown,  Irving,  Cooper  —  these  were  our 
few  literary  heroes.  Fortunately  for  Margaret 
Fuller,  she  had  been  led  by  the  political  tastes  of 
her  father  to  turn  from  the  weaker  side  of  Amer 
ican  intellect,  which  then  was  literature,  to  the 

1  Mass.  Quarterly  Review,  ill  206. 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         133 

strong  side,  which  was  statesmanship.  She  had 
thus  learned  that  there  was  a  department  of  Amer 
ican  life  which  was  not  derivative  and  apologetic, 
but  strong  and  self-relying ;  and  she  was  just  in 
the  mood  to  be  a  literary  pioneer. 

What  is  called  the  Transcendental  movement 
amounted  essentially  to  this  :  that  about  the  year 
1836  a  number  of  young  people  in  America  made 
the  discovery  that,  in  whatever  quarter  of  the 
globe  they  happened  to  be,  it  was  possible  for 
them  to  take  a  look  at  the  stars  for  themselves. 
This  discovery  no  doubt  led  to  extravagances  and 
follies  ;  the  experimentalists  at  first  went  stum 
bling  about,  like  the  astrologer  in  the  fable,  with 
their  eyes  on  the  heavens  ;  and  at  Brook  Farm 
they,  like  him,  fell  into  a  ditch.  No  matter. 
There  were  plenty  of  people  to  make  a  stand  in 
behalf  of  conventionalism  in  those  very  days  ;  the 
thing  most  needed  was  to  have  a  few  fresh  think 
ers,  a  few  apostles  of  the  ideal ;  and  they  soon 
made  their  appearance  in  good  earnest.  The  first 
impulse,  no  doubt,  was  in  the  line  of  philosophic 
and  theologic  speculation  ;  but  the  primary  aim 
announced  on  the  very  first  page  of  the  "  Dial " 
was  "  to  make  new  demands  on  literature."  1  It 
is  in  this  aspect  that  the  movement  must  espe 
cially  be  treated  here. 

Even  if  they  had  not  made  this  emancipation  of 
literature  one  of  their  prominent  objects,  they  still 
would  have  been  laboring  for  it,  even  while  uncon- 
i  Died,  i.  i. 


134  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

scious.  The  moment  they  made  the  discovery  that 
they  could  see  the  universe  with  their  own  eyes, 
they  ceased  to  be  provincial.  "  He  despises  me," 
wrote  Ben  Jonson,  "because  I  live  in  an  alley. 
Tell  him  his  soul  lives  in  an  alley."  After  all, 
narrowness  or  enlargement  are  in  the  mind.  Mr. 
Henry  James,  turning  on  Thoreau  the  reverse  end 
of  a  remarkably  good  telescope,  pronounces  him 
"  parochial,"  because  he  made  the  woods  and  wa 
ters  of  Concord,  Massachusetts,  his  chief  theme. 
The  epithet  is  curiously  infelicitous.  To  be  paro 
chial  is  to  turn  away  from  the  great  and  look  at 
the  little ;  the  daily  newspapers  of  Paris  afford  the 
best  illustration  of  this  fault.  It  is  not  parochial, 
but  the  contrary,  when  Dr.  Gould  spends  his  life 
in  watching  the  stars  from  his  lonely  observatory 
in  Paraguay ;  or  when  Lafarge  erects  his  isolated 
studio  among  the  Paradise  Rocks  near  Newport ; 
or  when  Thoreau  studies  birds  and  bees,  Iliads 
and  Vedas,  in  his  little  cottage  by  Lake  Walden. 
To  look  out  of  the  little  world  into  the  great,  that 
is  enlargement ;  all  else  is  parochialism. 

It  is  also  to  be  remembered  that  people  in 
America,  in  those  days,  if  they  had  access  to  no 
great  variety  of  thought,  still  had  —  as  in  the 
Indian's  repartee  about  Time — all  the  thought 
there  was.  The  sources  of  intellectual  influence 
then  most  powerful  in  England,  France,  and  Ger 
many,  were  accessible  and  potent  in  America  also. 
The  writers  who  were  then  remoulding  English 
intellectual  habits  —  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Shel« 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         135 

ley  —  were  eagerly  read  in  the  United  States  ;  and 
Carlyle  found  here  his  first  responsive  audience. 
There  was  a  similar  welcome  afforded  in  Amer 
ica  to  Cousin  and  his  eclectics,  then  so  powerful  in 
France  ;  the  same  to  Goethe,  Herder,  Jean  Paul, 
Kant,  Schelling,  Fichte,  Jacobi,  and  Hegel.  All 
these  were  read  eagerly  by  the  most  cultivated 
classes  in  the  United  States,  and  helped,  here  as 
in  Europe,  to  form  the  epoch.  Margaret  Fuller, 
so  early  as  October  6,  1834,  wrote  in  one  of  her 
unpublished  letters,1  "  our  master,  Goethe ;  "  and 
Emerson  writes  to  Carlyle  (April  21,  1840),  "  I 
have  contrived  to  read  almost  every  volume  of 
Goethe,  and  I  have  fifty-five.2  To  have  read 
fifty-five  volumes  of  Goethe  was  a  liberal  educa 
tion. 

Add  to  this,  that  Margaret  Fuller,  like  Emer 
son,  had  what  is  still  the  basis  of  all  literary 
training  in  the  literature  of  Greece  and  Rome  —  a 
literature  whose  merit  it  is  that  it  puts  all  its  pos 
sessors  on  a  level ;  so  that  if  a  child  were  reared  in 
Alaska  and  had  JEschylus  and  Horace  at  his  fin 
gers'  ends,  he  would  have  a  better  preparation  for 
literary  work,  so  far  as  the  mere  form  goes,  than 
if  he  had  lived  in  Paris  and  read  only  Balzac. 
Still  again,  the  vast  stores  of  oriental  literature 
were  just  being  thrown  open  ;  and  the  "  Dial"  was, 
perhaps,  the  first  literary  journal  to  place  what  it 
called  the  "  Ethnical  Scriptures  "  in  the  light  now 

1  To  Mrs.  Barlow.     Fuller  MSS.  i.  15. 

2  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  i.  285. 


136  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

generally  conceded  to  them ;  or  to  recognize  what 
has  been  latterly  called  "  the  Sympathy  of  Re 
ligions."  Thanks  to  this  general  fact,  that  the 
best  literature  is  transportable  and  carries  the 
same  weight  everywhere,  these  American  inno 
vators,  living  in  their  little  Boston  and  Cambridge 
and  Concord,  had  for  literary  purposes  a  cosmo 
politan  training.  This  advantage  would,  however, 
have  been  of  little  worth  to  them  unless  com 
bined  with  the  consciousness  that  they  were  living 
in  a  new  world  and  were  part  of  a  self-governing 
nation.  As  Petrarch  gave  an  impulse  to  modern 
European  literature  when  he  thought  himself 
reviving  the  study  of  the  ancient,  BO  the  Tran 
scendental  movement  in  America,  while  actively 
introducing  French  and  German  authors  to  the 
American  public,  was  really  preparing  the  way 
for  that  public  to  demand  a  literature  of  its  own. 
The  utterances  of  the  "  Dial "  were  often,  from 
the  very  outset,  tinged  with  the  passing  fashion 
of  a  period  now  gone  by.  The  writers  took  an 
ideal  view  of  things,  —  sometimes  extravagantly 
ideal,  —  and  this  has  not  proved  a  permanent 
fashion.  No  matter ;  no  fashion  is  permanent ; 
and  the  ideal  point  of  view  is  as  sure  to  have  its 
turn  again,  as  is  the  world  to  roll  round  —  as  sure 
as  the  recurrence  of  Gainsborough  hats  and  Queen 
Anne  houses.  But  with  this  fleeting  show  there 
was  achieved  a  substantial  gain,  which  was  not 
subject  to  fashion,  and  which,  when  won,  was  won 
forever.  Behind  all  the  catchwords,  and  even 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         137 

cant,  if  you  please,  of  the  "  Transcendentalists," 
lay  the  fact  that  they  looked  immediately  around 
them  for  their  stimulus,  their  scenery,  their  il 
lustrations,  and  their  properties.  After  fifty  years 
of  national  life,  the  skylark  and  nightingale  were 
at  last  dethroned  from  our  literature,  and  in  the 
very  first  volume  of  the  "  Dial  "  the  blue-bird  and 
the  wood-thrush  took  their  place.  Since  then, 
they  have  held  their  own ;  birds  and  flowers  are 
recognized  as  a  part  of  the  local  coloring,  not  as 
mere  transportable  property,  to  be  brought  over 
by  emigrants  in  their  boxes,  and  good  only  as 
having  crossed  the  ocean.  Americans  still  go  to 
England  to  hear  the  skylark,  but  Englishmen 
also  come  to  America  to  hear  the  bobolink. 

This  effect  of  the  new  movement  was  doubt 
less  partly  unconscious  ;  for  the  impulse  included 
some  who  were  illiterate,  but  thoughtful,  and  dis 
trusted  all  literature.  In  the  minds  of  the  leaders, 
however,  the  attitude  was  conscious  and  deliber 
ate. 

"  He  who  doubts  whether  this  age  or  this  country  can 
yield  any  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  world 
only  betrays  his  own  blindness  to  the  necessities  of  the 
human  soul.  Has  the  power  of  poetry  ceased,  or  the 
need  ?  Have  the  eyes  ceased  to  see  that  which  they 
would  have,  and  which  they  have  not?  .  .  .  The  heart 
beats  in  this  age  as  of  old,  and  the  passions  are  busy  as 
ever." l 

It   was   this   strong   conviction   in    their   own 
l  Emerson  in  Dial,  i.  157, 158  (October,  1840). 


138  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

minds  of  the  need  of  something  fresh  and  indig 
enous,  which  controlled  the  criticism  of  the  Tran- 
scendentalists ;  and  sometimes  made  them  un 
just  to  the  early  poetry  of  a  man  like  Longfellow, 
who  still  retained  the  European  symbols,  and 
exasperated  them  by  writing  about  "  Pentecost  " 
and  "  bishop's-caps,"  just  as  if  this  continent 
had  never  been  discovered. 

The  most  striking  illustration  of  the  direct  lit 
erary  purpose  of  this  movement  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  early  writings  of  Emerson,  though  they 
make  it  plain  enough  ;  but  in  a  remarkable  ad 
dress  given  at  Cambridge  by  a  young  man,  whose 
career  was  cut  short  by  death,  after  he  had  given 
promise  of  important  service.  Robert  Bartlett, 
of  Plymouth,  Massachusetts,  graduated  at  Cam 
bridge  in  1886,  and  in  his  "  Master  of  Arts " 
oration,  three  years  after,  took  for  his  theme  the 
phrase,  "  No  good  possible,  but  shall  one  day  be 
real."  The  address  attracted  great  attention,  and 
was  afterwards  published  in  an  English  maga 
zine,1  under  the  title,  "  A  Voice  from  America. 
The  Hope  of  Literature."  Nothing  then  written 
—  nothing  in  even  the  "  Dial  "  itself  —  has  pre 
served  for  us  so  good  a  picture  of  the  working  of 
the  new  impulse  among  educated  minds,  at  that 
day ;  but  the  most  remarkable  passage  was  that 
in  which  the  young  student  announced  the  possi 
bilities  of  American  Literature,  as  follows :  — - 

"  When    Horace  was  affecting   to    make   himself  a 
1  Heraud's  New  Monthly  Magazine,  April,  1840. 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         139 

Greek  poet,  the  genius  of  his  country,  the  shade  of  im 
mortal  Romulus,  stood  over  him,  '  post  mediam  noctem 
visus  quum  soinnia  vera,'  and  forbade  the  perversion. 
...  Is  everything  so  sterile  and  pigmy  here  in  New 
England,  that  we  must  all,  writers  and  readers,  be  for 
ever  replenishing  ourselves  with  the  mighty  wonders  of 
the  Old  World  ?     Is  not  the  history  of  this  people  tran 
scendent  in  the  chronicles  of  the  world  for  pure,  homo 
geneous  sublimity  and  beauty  and  richness  ?     Go  down 
some  ages  of  ages  from  this  day,  compress  the  years 
from  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  to  the  death  of  Wash 
ington  into  the  same  span  as  the  first  two  centuries  of 
Athens  now  fill  our  memories.     Will  men  then  come 
hither  from  all  regions  of  the  globe  —  will  the  tomb  of 
Washington,   the   rock  of   the    Puritans    then   become 
classic  to  the  world  ?  will  these  spots  and  relics  here 
give  the  inspiration,  the  theme,  the  image  of  the  poet 
and  orator  and  sculptor,  and  be  the  ground  of  splendid 
mythologies  ?  .  .  .  We  do  not  express  the  men  and  the 
miracles  of  our  history  in  our  social  action,  and  corre 
spondingly,  ay,  and  by  consequence,  we  do  not  outwrite 
them  in  poetry  or  art.     We  are  looking   abroad   and 
back  after  a   literature.     Let  us  come  and   live,  and 
know  in  living  a  high  philosophy  and  faith,  so  shall  we 
find  now,  here,  the  elements,  and  in  our  own  good  souls 
the  fire.     Of  every  storied  bay  and  •  cliff  and  plain,  we 
will  make  something  infinitely  nobler  than  Salamis  or 
Marathon.      This  pale  Massachusetts  sky,  this  sandy 
soil  and  raw  wind,  all  shall  nurture  us  : 

'  O  Nature,  less  is  all  of  thine, 
Than  are  thy  borrowings  from  our  human  breast/ 

Rich  skies,  fair  fields  shall  come  to  us,  suffused  with 
the  immortal    hues   of    spirit,   of  beauteous   act  and 


140  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

thought.     Unlike  all  the  world  before  us,  our  own  age 
and  land  shall  be  classic  to  ourselves."  1 

This  oration,  be  it  remembered,  was  delivered 
and  printed  while  the  "  Dial "  was  yet  unborn  ; 
and  before  Emerson  had  published  anything  but 
"  Nature "  and  a  few  addresses.  These  words 
which  I  have  quoted  were  like  a  trumpet-call  to 
myself  and  others,  half  a  dozen  years  later  ;  and 
nothing  of  Emerson's  ever  touched  us  more  deeply. 
They  make  it  very  clear,  at  any  rate,  that  the  in 
tellectual  excitement  of  that  day,  whatever  may 
be  thought  of  it  as  philosophy,  produced  in  litera 
ture  the  effect  of  emancipation.  The  " Dial"  was 
the  embodiment  of  this  movement;  and  without 
Margaret  Fuller  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  "  Dial " 
would  ever  have  been  born. 

In  conducting  it,  she  had  to  attempt  that  hard 
est  thing  in  life,  to  bring  reformers  into  sys 
tematic  cooperation.  Reformers  are  like  Esqui 
maux  dogs,  which  must  be  hitched  to  the  sledge, 
each  by  a  separate  thong ;  if  put  in  one  common 
harness,  they  turn  and  eat  each  other  up.  Un 
der  the  common  phrase,  "  Transcendentalists," 
were  comprised,  at  that  day,  people  of  the  most 
antagonistic  temperaments.  Nobody  could  dwell 
higher  among  the  clouds  than  Alcott ;  no  one 
could  keep  his  feet  more  firmly  on  the  earth  than 
Parker  ;  yet  they  must  be  harnessed  to  the  same 
conveyance.  Those  who  have  had  to  do  similar 
charioteering  amid  the  milder  divergences  and 
1  Heraud's  New  Monthly  Magazine,  iii.  448. 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         141 

smoother  individualities  of  the  present  day  can 
best  estimate  what  her  task  must  have  been. 

Both  the  magazine  and  the  literary  club  from 
which  it  sprang  seem  to  have  been  a  subject  of 
correspondence  among  a  circle  of  friends  for  sev 
eral  years  before  either  took  definite  shape.  Mar 
garet  Fuller  writes  to  the  Rev.  F.  H.  Hedge,  so 
early  as  July  4,  1833  :  — 

"  I  should  be  very  willing  to  join  such  a  society  as 
you  speak  of,  and  will  '  compose  a  piece,'  if  you  will 
give  me  a  subject." 

This,  however,  was  merely  a  social  club,  com 
posed  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  Cambridge,  and 
Dr.  Hedge  has  no  remembrance  of  any  literary 
exercises  connected  with  it.  But  during  the  win 
ter  of  1834-35  there  was  a  good  deal  of  discus 
sion  in  respect  to  a  possible  magazine,  and  on 
March  5,  1835,  —  nearly  two  years  after,  —  she 
writes  to  him,  still  from  Groton :  — 

"  Your  periodical  plan  charms  me ;  I  think  you  will 
do  good  and,  what  is  next  best,  gain  favor.  Though  I 
have  been  somewhat  jostled  in  this  working-day  world, 
I  have  still  a  great  partiality  for  the  goddess  who 

'  vires  [que]  acquirit  eundo  ; 
Farva  metu  primo ;  mox  sese  attolit  in  auras 
.  .  .  et  caput  inter  nubila  condit.' l 

I  shall  feel  myself  honored  if  I  am  deemed  worthy  of 

lending  a  hand,  albeit  I  fear  I  am  merely  '  Germanico,' 

and  not  '  transcendental.'     I  go  by  fits  and  starts :  there 

1  The  description  of  "  Fama  "  in  Virgil's  JEneid,  iv.  175-177. 


142  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

is  no  knowing  what  I  should  wish  to  write  upon  next 
January."  1 

Every  knot  of  bright  young  thinkers  is  easily 
tempted  to  plan  a  periodical  which  shall  reflect 
the  thoughts  of  the  coterie ;  and  it  seemed  for  some 
years  as  if  this  particular  enterprise  would  go  no 
farther.  The  Rev.  F.  H.  Hedge,  who  had  urged 
it  most  definitely,  removed  to  Bangor,  Maine,  in 

1835,  and  the  project  languished.     But  it  so  hap 
pened  that  there  was  held  in  the  autumn  of  1836 
the  bicentennial  celebration  of  Harvard  College, 
and  it  turned  out  an  important  circumstance  for 
this  special  movement.  Four  young  Unitarian  cler 
gymen  —  Emerson,  Hedge,  Ripley,  and  Putnam  — 
meeting  after  the  exercises,  got  into  some  conver 
sation  about  the  narrow  tendencies  of  thought  in 
the  churches.     They  adjourned  to  a  room  at  Wil- 
lard's   Hotel  —  then   a  place   of   some  resort   in 
Cambridge,  now  converted   into  a  horse-railroad 
office —  and  talked  the  matter  over  at  length.     It 
ended  in  a  small  meeting  for  consultation  at  Rev. 
George    Ripley 's    in    Boston,    on    September   19, 

1836,  at  which  were  present  Ripley,   Emerson, 
Hedge,  Alcott,  Clarke,  and  Francis,  and  one  or 
two  divinity  students.     This  led  to  a  much  larger 
meeting  at  Mr.  Emerson's  in  Concord,  at  which 
were  present,  besides  the  above,  O.  A.  Brownson, 
T.  Parker,  C.  A.  Bartol,  C.  Stetson,  and  various 
other  men  ;  with  Margaret  Fuller  and  Elizabeth 
P.  Peabody.     This  was  the  inauguration  of  a  club, 

1  MS. 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS    ORGAN.         143 

called  "  The  Transcendental  Club  "  by  the  world ; 
sometimes,  by  Mr.  Alcott,  "  The  Symposium 
Club  ;  "  and  occasionally,  by  its  members,  "  The 
Hedge  Club,"  because  its  meetings  were  often 
adapted  to  suit  the  Rev.  F.  H.  Hedge's  occasional 
•visits  to  Boston.  This  association  met  once  a 
month  or  thereabouts  for  several  years. 

In  1839  the  theme  of  a  much-desired  journal 
constantly  appears  in  the  manuscript  diary  of  Mr. 
Alcott,  both  in  connection  with  this  club  and  with 
his  own  meditations.  Thus  he  writes  (March  12, 
1839),  "Before  long  a  journal  will  be  circulating 
the  thoughts  which  are  now  talked  about  in  pri 
vate  circles,"  1  —  yet  this  he  says  evidently  in  his 
general  attitude  of  prophet  and  seer,  without 
more  definite  forecast. 

Soon  after  (March  27),  he  writes  :  — 

"  Brought  home  with  me  Brownson's  *  Boston  Quar 
terly  Review,'  for  April.  This  is  the  best  journal  now 
current  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  but  falls  far  below 
the  idea  of  the  best  minds  among  us.  Its  circulation  is 
limited.  A  better  work  will  appear  before  long.  Some 
of  the  freest  pens  now  lie  idle  for  want  of  a  channel. 
.  .  .  The  '  Christian  Examiner '  is  timid  and  conserva 
tive."  2 

Again,  in  his  record  of  a  meeting  of  the  club, 
May  8,  1839,  it  appears  that  the  first  topic  of  dis 
cussion  was  "  The  Present  Temper  of  our  Jour* 

1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  xii.  464. 

2  Ibid.  xii.  542. 


144  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

nals."     He  continues,  recording  Ms  own  remarks 
but  not  those  of  others :  — 

"  I  said  that  they  were  destitute  of  proper  freshness 
and  independence.  The  *  Liberator '  was  then  the  only 
journal  which  had  root  in  the  soul  and  flourished."  1 

The  Club  went  on  meeting,  now  at  Mr.  Emer 
son's  in  Concord,  now  at  Dr.  Francis's  in  Water- 
town,  now  at  Mr.  Bartol's  in  Boston.  It  was 
made  up  of  unusual  materials.  Hedge  supplied 
the  trained  philosophic  mind ;  Convers  Francis, 
the  omnivorous  mental  appetite  ;  James  Free 
man  Clarke,  the  philanthropic  comprehensiveness  5 
Theodore  Parker,  the  robust  energy ;  Orestes  A. 
Brownson,  the  gladiatorial  vigor ;  Caleb  Stetson, 
the  wit ;  William  Henry  Channing,  the  lofty  en 
thusiasm  ;  Ripley,  the  active  understanding  ;  Bar- 
tol,  the  flame  of  aspiration  ;  Alcott,  the  pure  ideal 
ism  ;  Emerson,  the  lumen  siccum,  or  dry  light. 
Among  members  or  occasional  guests  were  Tho- 
reau,  Jones  Very,  George  P.  Bradford,  Dr.  Le 
Baron  Russell,  and  a  few  young  theological  stu 
dents  from  Cambridge,  such  as  William  D.  Wilson, 
now  professor  at  Cornell  University,  and  Robert 
Bartlett,  whose  Harvard  "Master  of  Arts"  oration 
has  been  already  quoted.  Once,  and  once  only,  Dr. 
Channing  and  George  Bancroft  seem  to  have  met 
with  them  at  Mr.  Ripley's  (December  5,  1839). 

The  project  of  a  magazine,  long  pending,  seems 
to  have  been  brought  to  a  crisis  by  the  existence 

1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  xii. 


4  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         145 

of  an  English  periodical,  which  was  at  the  time 
thought  so  good  as  to  be  almost  a  model  for  the 
American  enterprise  ;  but  which  seems,  on  re-read 
ing  it  in  the  perspective  of  forty  years,  to  be  quite 
unworthy  of  the  comparison.  There  was  in  Eng 
land  a  man  named  John  A.  Heraud,  author  of  a 
Life  of  Savonarola,  and  described  in  one  of  Car- 
lyle's  most  deliciously  humorous  sketches  as  "  a 
loquacious,  scribacious  little  man  of  middle  age,  of 
parboiled  greasy  aspect,"  and  by  Leigh  Hunt,  as 
"  wavering  in  the  most  astonishing  manner  be 
tween  being  Something  and  being  Nothing."  He 
seems  to  have  been,  if  not  witty  himself,  the  cause 
of  wit  in  others,  for  Stuart  Mill  said  of  him :  "  I 
forgive  him  freely  for  interpreting  the  Universe, 
now  when  I  find  he  cannot  pronounce  the  A's." 
When  Carlyle  once  quoted  to  him  the  saying  of 
Novalis,  that  the  highest  problem  of  authorship  is 
the  writing  of  a  Bible,  — '"  That  is  precisely  what 
I  am  doing,'  answered  the  aspiring,  unaspirat- 
ing."1 

Nothing  was  more  natural  than  that  Mr.  Alcott 
• —  who,  upon  a  far  higher  plane  of  character,  as 
even  Carlyle  would  have  admitted,  was  engaged 
in  the  same  rather  daring  task  with  Heraud,  and 
even  bound  up  some  volumes  of  his  manuscript 
diary  with  the  label,  "  Scriptures  for  1840,"  or 
whatever  the  date  might  be  —  should  have  looked 
eagerly  toward  Heraud,  especially  when  the  latter 
began  to  publish  his  "  New  Monthly  Magazine." 

1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  i.  276,  277. 
10 

O* 


146  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Dr.  Convers  Francis,  who  contrived  upon  the  sal 
ary  of  a  poor  country  clergyman  to  subscribe  to 
everything  and  buy  everything,  of  course  took 
Heraud's  periodical ;  and  his  copy,  apparently  the 
only  one  to  be  found  in  these  parts,  now  lies  be 
fore  me.  In  this  magazine  it  was  proposed  to 
publish  some  other  things  from  American  sources 
besides  Bartlett's  oration  ;  as,  for  instance,  a  re 
view  of  Jones  Very's  poems,  by  Miss  Fuller ;  and 
one  of  Tennyson's,  by  John  S.  Dwight ;  but  these 
seem  never  to  have  appeared.  Besides  this  month 
ly,  Heraud  or  his  friends  planned  and  announced 
a  still  more  esoteric  periodical,  to  be  called  "  Au 
rora;"  and  his  ally,  Dr.  J.  Westland  Marston, 
actually  published  some  numbers  of  one  called 
"  Psyche."  All  these  productions  were  read  with 
great  eagerness  by  the  Boston  circle,  Mr.  Alcott's 
diary  recording  from  month  to  month  the  satisfac 
tion  taken  by  himself,  Miss  Fuller,  and  others  in 
Heraud's  undertakings,  and  his  own  fear  that 
Americans  could  not  support  such  an  enterprise. 
"It  will  be  some  time,"  he  writes  in  his  diary 
(November  1,  1839),  "  before  our  contemplated 
journal  will  be  commenced,  and  I  question  whether 
we  shall  find  talent  or  spirit  to  equal  that  of  our 
English  brethren.  We  have  writers  enough,  but 
they  are  neither  accomplished  nor  free.  Half  a 
dozen  men  exhaust  our  list  of  contributors ;  Em 
erson,  Hedge,  Miss  Fuller,  Ripley,  Channing, 
Dwight,  and  Clarke  are  our  dependence."  x  But 

1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  xiii.  375. 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         147 

the  trophies  of  Heraud  would  not  suffer  Bosto- 
nians  to  sleep.  There  was  great  interchange  of 
pamphlets  and  new  books,  and  Mr.  Alcott,  while 
planning  to  reprint  a  little  work  of  Herand's  from 
an  English  volume  called  "The  Educator," — a 
reprint  actually  accomplished  by  him  two  years 
later,  in  a  small  volume  called  "  Spiritual  Cul 
ture,"  —  followed  the  matter  up  still  further,  as 
may  be  seen  in  the  following  extract  from  his 
diary :  — 

"Saturday,  28th  [September,  1839]. 

"I  had  an  agreeable  talk  with  G.  Ripley  on  the 
Times,  and  particularly  on  my  transatlantic  friends.  He 
is  much  taken  with  Heraud's  journal,  which  he  has  read 
from  January  last.  He  wishes  to  establish  a  journal  of 
like  character  among  ourselves.  We  need  such  an  or 
gan,  but  lack  the  ability  to  make  it  worthy  of  our  posi 
tion.  There  are  but  few  contributors,  and  those  not  at 
all  free  from  the  influences  of  the  past.  Yet  such  a 
journal  we  must  have  in  due  time.  Doubtless  it  would 
succeed  even  now.  Brownson's  '  Boston  Quarterly '  is 
pledged  to  a  party  in  politics,  and  takes  narrow  ground 
both  in  philosophy  and  literature.  We  must  have  a  free 
journal  for  the  soul  which  awaits  its  own  scribes."  1 

Before  this,  however,  as  appears  from  other 
memoranda  by  Mr.  Alcott  in  my  possession,  Mar 
garet  Fuller,  at  a  meeting  of  the  "  Symposium  " 
Club,  September  18,  "  gave  her  views  of  the  pro 
posed  '  Dial,'  which  she  afterwards  edited."  This 
is  the  first  instance  I  have  found  of  the  introduc- 
1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  xiii.  264. 


148  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

tion  of  the  actual  title  of  the  American  periodical ; 
but  the  word  was  several  times  used  by  Mr.  Alcott 
to  describe  his  own  laborious  diary  ;  and  he  ex 
pressly  states  that  it  was  transferred  from  his  per 
sonal  use  to  that  of  the  proposed  magazine.  "  To 
these  papers,"  he  says,  speaking  of  his  own  manu 
script  volumes,  "  I  give  the  name  of  '  The  Dial,'  " 
and  indorses  on  a  copy  of  the  original  prospectus, 
"This  journal  takes  its  name  from  a  MS.  of  mine 
of  like  designation,  referred  to  on  pages  47  and 
50  of  this  Scripture."  l 

The  new  magazine  now  at  last  impending 
moved  Mr.  Brown  son  to  make  a  final  effort  to 
unite  it  with  his  own,  and  he  came  to  Mr.  Alcott 
for  that  purpose,  proposing  that  instead  of  estab 
lishing  the  "  Dial  "  its  projectors  should  write  un 
der  their  own  signatures  in  the  "  Boston  Quarterly 
Review."  Alcott  says  of  this  suggestion  (October 
19,  1839)  :  "  I  shall  speak  with  Emerson  and  Miss 
Fuller  about  it ; "  and  the  next  day  he  and  the 
lady  went  together  to  Concord  and  discussed  the 
plan,  apparently  wisely  rejecting  it.  He  writes  of 
Miss  Fuller  after  his  return,  "  She  has  a  deeper 
insight  into  character  than  any  of  her  contempo 
raries,  and  will  enrich  our  literature.'* 

We  find  her  soon  actively  at  work  in  writing  to 
friends  and  summoning  forth  contributions.  Thus 
she  writes  on  New  Year's  Day,  to  the  Rev.  W.  H. 
Channing,  then  preaching  at  Cincinnati :  — 

1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  xiv.  79. 

2  Ibid.  xiii.  320,  321,  326. 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         149 

"JAMAICA  PLAIN,  1st  January,  1840. 

"  I  write  to  inform  you  that  there  is  now  every  rea 
son  to  hope  that  a  first  number  of,  the  much-talked  of 
new  journal  may  be  issued  next  April,  and  to  ask  what 
you  will  give.  I  have  counted  on  you  for  the  first 
number,  because  you  seemed  so  really  in  earnest  and 
said  you  had  articles  ready  written.  But  I  want  to 
know  what  part  you  propose  to  take  in  the  grand  sym 
phony,  and  I  pray  you  to  answer  me  directly,  for  we 
must  proceed  to  tune  the  instruments.  Mr.  Emerson  is 
warmly  interested  and  will  give  active  assistance  for  a 
year.  Mr.  Ripley  and  Mr.  Dwight  are  also  in  earnest ; 
for  others  I  know  not  yet. 

"  Will  not  Mr.  Vaughan  give  us  some  aid  ?  His  article 
on  the  '  Chartists '  excited  interest  here,  and  we  should 
like  some  such  '  large  sharp  strokes '  of  the  pen  very 
much.  .  .  . 

"  At  Newport  you  prophesied  a  new  literature  :  shall 
it  dawn  in  1840  ?  "  l 

On  the  same  day  she  writes  to  Rev.  F.  H. 
Hedge,  at  Bangor,  Maine :  — 

"JAMAICA  PLAIN,  1st  January,  1840. 
"  MY  DEAR  HENRY,  —  I  write  this  New  Year's  Day 
to  wish  you  all  happiness,  and  to  say  that  there  is  reason 
to  expect  the  new  journal  (in  such  dim  prospect  when 
you  were  here)  may  see  the  light  next  April.  And  we 
depend  on  you  for  the  first  number,  and  for  solid  bullion 
too.  Mr.  Emerson  will  write,  every  number,  and  so  will 
you  if  you  are  good  and  politic,  for  it  is  the  best  way  to 
be  heard  from  your  sentry-box  there  in  Bangor.  —  My 
friend,  I  really  hope  you  will  make  this  the  occasion  for 
i  MS.  (W.  H.C.) 


150  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

assailing  the  public  ear  with  such  a  succession  of  melo 
dies  that  all  the  stones  will  advance  to  form  a  city  of 
refuge  for  the  just.  I  think  with  the  greatest  pleasure 
of  working  in  company  with  you.  But  what  will  it  be  ? 
will  you  give  us  poems  or  philosophy  or  criticism,  and 
how  much  ?  for  we  are  planning  out  our  first  number  by 
the  yard.  Let  me  hear  from  you  directly." l 

Later,  she  writes  to  him  again :  — 

"JAMAICA  PLAIN,  Wth  March,  1840. 
..."  Henry,  I  adjure  you,  in  the  name  of  all  the 
Genii,  Muses,  Pegasus,  Apollo,  Pollio,  Apollyon,  ('  and 

must  I  mention' )  to  send  me  something  good  for 

this  journal  before  the  1st  May.  All  mortals,  my 
friend,  are  slack  and  bare;  they  wait  to  see  whether 
Hotspur  wins,  before  they  levy  aid  for  as  good  a  plan  as 
ever  was  laid.  I  know  you  are  plagued  and  it  is  hard 
to  write,  just  so  is  it  with  me,  for  I  also  am  a  father. 
But  you  can  help,  and  become  a  godfather!  if  you 
like,  and  let  it  be  nobly,  for  if  the  first  number  justify 
not  the  magazine,  it  will  not  find  justification ;  so  write, 
my  friend,  write,  and  paint  not  for  me  fine  plans  on  the 
clouds  to  be  achieved  at  some  future  time,  as  others  do 
who  have  had  many  years  to  be  thinking  of  immortality. 
"  I  could  make  a  number  myself  with  the  help  Mr.  E. 
[Emerson]  will  give,  but  the  Public,  I  trow,  is  too  as 
tute  a  donkey  not  to  look  sad  at  that."  2 

On  March  18,  1840,  Emerson  writes  to  Car- 
lyle:  — 

1  MS. 

2  MS.     The  allusion  is  to  the  lines  in  Rejected  Addresses,— 

"  And,  when  that  donkey  looked  me  in  the  face 
Its  face  was  sad  ;  and  you  are  sad,  my  Public  !  " 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  JTS  ORGAN.         151 

"  My  vivacious  friend,  Margaret  Fuller,  is  to  edit  a 
journal  whose  first  number  she  promises  for  the  first  of 
July  next,  —  which,  I  think,  will  be  written  with  a  good 
will,  if  written  at  all." 1 

Again  he  says,  April  22,  1840  :  — 

"  I  have  very  good  hope  that  my  friend  Margaret  Ful 
ler's  journal  —  after  many  false  baptisms  now  saying  it 
will  be  called '  The  Dial '  and  which  is  to  appear  in  July 
—  will  give  you  a  better  knowledge  of  our  young  people 
than  any  you  have  had."  2 

On  April  19,  1840,  she  writes  to  the  Rev.  W. 
H.  Channing  again  :  — 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  of  much  use  except  to  urge  on 
the  laggards  and  scold  the  lukewarm,  and  act  like  Helen 
McGregor  to  those  who  love  compromise,  by  doing  my 
little  best  to  sink  them  in  the  waters  of  oblivion."  8 

On  May  31,  1840,  she  writes  to  Emerson  :  — 

"  There  are  only  thirty  names  on  the  Boston  sub 
scription  list  of  the  *  Dial.'  I  hope  you  will  let  me  have 
your  paper  by  next  Friday  or  Saturday."  4 

Upon  such  modest  encouragement  did  a  period 
ical  proceed  which  was  to  be  the  beginning  of  a 
new  era  in  cis-Atlantic  literature.  The  original 
prospectus  —  written,  I  suspect,  by  Mr.  Ripley  — 
was  as  follows  :  — 

1  Carhjle- Emerson  Correspondence,  i.  270. 

2  Ibid.  i.  285.  3  MS.  4  M& 


152  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

"THE   DIAL: 

A 

MAGAZINE 

FOB 

LITERATURE,  PHILOSOPHY,  AND  RELIGION. 
To  be  Continued  Quarterly. 

"  The  purpose  of  this  work  is  to  furnish  a  medium  for 
the  freest  expression  of  thought  on  the  questions  which 
interest  earnest  minds  in  every  community. 

"  It  aims  at  the  discussion  of  principles  rather  than  at 
the  promotion  of  measures  ;  and  while  it  will  not  fail  to 
examine  the  ideas  which  impel  the  leading  movements 
of  the  present  day,  it  will  maintain  an  independent  po 
sition  with  regard  to  them. 

"  The  pages  of  this  journal  will  be  filled  by  contribu 
tors  who  possess  little  in  common  but  the  love  of  indi 
vidual  freedom  and  the  hope  of  social  progress  ;  who  are 
united  by  sympathy  of  spirit,  not  by  agreement  in  spec 
ulation  ;  whose  faith  is  in  Divine  Providence,  rather 
than  in  human  prescription  ;  whose  hearts  are  more  in 
the  future  than  in  the  past,  and  who  trust  the  living 
soul  more  than  the  dead  letter.  It  will  endeavor  to 
promote  the  constant  evolution  of  truth,  not  the  petri 
faction  of  opinion. 

"  Its  contents  will  embrace  a  wide  and  varied  range 
of  subjects,  and  combining  the  characteristics  of  a  Maga 
zine  and  Review,  it  may  present  something  both  for 
those  who  read  for  instruction  and  those  who  search  for 
amusement. 

"  The  general  design  and  character  of  the  work  may 
be  understood  from  the  above  brief  statement.  It  may 
be  proper  to  add  that,  in  literature,  it  will  strive  to  ex- 


A  LITERARY  CLUB  AND  ITS  ORGAN.         153 

ercise  a  just  and  catholic  criticism,  and  to  recognize 
every  sincere  production  of  genius ;  in  philosophy  it  will 
attempt  the  reconciliation  of  the  universal  instincts  of 
humanity  with  the  largest  conclusions  of  reason ;  and  in 
religion  it  will  reverently  seek  to  discover  the  presence 
of  God  in  nature,  in  history,  and  in  the  soul  of  man. 

"  «  The  Dial,'  as  its  title  indicates,  will  endeavor  to  oc 
cupy  a  position  on  which  the  light  may  fall ;  which  is 
open  to  the  rising  sun ;  and  from  which  it  may  correctly 
report  the  progress  of  the  hour  and  the  day. 

"  *  The  Dial '  will  be  published  once  in  three  months, 
on  the  first  day  of  January,  April,  July,  and  October. 
Each  number  will  contain  136  octavo  pages,  making  one 
volume  in  a  year  of  544  pages,  which  will  be  furnished 
to  subscribers  at  Three  Dollars  per  annum,  payable  on 
the  delivery  of  the  second  number.  The  first  number 
will  be  published  on  the  first  day  of  July  next. 
"  WEEKS,  JORDAN  &  Co., 

"121  Washington  Street. 
"BOSTON,  May  4,  1840." 


X. 

THE  DIAL. 

NOTHING  but  the  launching  of  a  ship  concen 
trates  into  short  space  so  much  of  solicitude  as  the 
launching  of  a  new  magazine.  Margaret  Fuller 
writes  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Barlow :  "  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  sending  you  the  first  number  of  a  pe 
riodical  some  of  us,  your  old  friends,  are  going  to 
scribble  in.  The  introduction  is  by  Mr.  Emer 
son  ;  pieces  on  «  Critics  '  and  the  4  Allston  Gal 
lery  '  by  me.  The  next  number  will  be  better."  1 

To  Mr.  Emerson,  as  one  of  the  ship-owners,  she 
writes  far  more  freely  (July  5,  1840)  :  — 

"  Until  I  shall  have  seen  Mr.  R.  [Ripley]  I  cannot  an 
swer  all  your  questions ;  metis  a  present,  you  can  have  as 
many  numbers  as  you  want  for  yourself  or  your  friends 
of  this  first  number,  but  our  contract  with  them  was  that 
twelve  numbers  should  be  given  to  Mr.  R.  each  quar 
ter  for  the  use  of  contributors.  Of  these  I  receive  two. 
Mr.  Thoreau  will  have  it,  of  course,  as  we  hope  his  fre 
quent  aid.  But  I  did  not  expect  to  furnish  it  to  all  who 
may  give  a  piece  occasionally.  I  have  not  sent  it  to  E. 
H.  [Ellen  Hooper]  or  C.  S.  [Caroline  Sturgis]  or  N.  I 
sent  a  list  to  W.  and  J.  [Weeks  &  Jordan]  of  those  to 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  23. 


THE  DIAL.  155 

whom  I  wished  this  number  sent.  I  did  not  give  Mr. 
Stone's  name,  but  doubtless  Mr.  R.  did.  I  will  see 
about  it,  however.  I  presume  Mr.  Cranch  is  a  sub 
scriber,  as  is  J.  F.  Clarke  and  others  who  will  write  ;  but 
I  will  look  at  the  list  when  in  town  next  Wednesday. 

"  I  desired  Mr.  Thoreau's  '  Persius '  to  be  sent  him, 
as  I  was  going  away  to  Cohasset  at  the  time  it  came  out, 
and  I  understood  from  Mr.  R.  that  it  was  sent,  and  he  did 
not  correct  it.  I  do  not  know  how  this  was  ;  the  errors 
are  most  unhappy.  I  will  not  go  away  again  when  it 
is  in  press. 

"  I  like  the  poetry  better  in  small  type  myself  and 
thought  the  little  page  neat  and  unpretending,  but  have 
no  sucli  positive  feeling  about  such  things  that  I  would 
not  defer  entirely  to  your  taste.  But  now  we  have  be 
gun  so,  I  should  think  it  undesirable  to  make  changes 
this  year,  as  the  first  volume  should  be  uniform.  I  wish 
I  had  consulted  you  at  first,  but  did  not  know  you  at 
tached  great  importance  to  externals  in  such  matters, 
as  you  do  so  little  in  others.  The  marks  shall  be  made 
and  the  spaces  left  as  you  desire,  however,  after  our  re 
spective  poems. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  quite  dissatisfied  with  the 
first  number.  I  feel  myself  how  far  it  is  from  that 
eaglet  motion  I  wanted.  I  suffer  in  looking  it  over 
now.  Did  you  observe  the  absurdity  of  the  last  two 
pages ;  these  are  things  they  had  to  fill  up  blanks, 
and  which,  thinking  't  was  pity  such  beautiful  thoughts 
should  be  lost,  they  put  in  for  climax.  Admire  the 
winding  up,  the  concluding  sentence  !  ! 

"I  agree  that  Mr.  Alcott's  sayings  read  well.  I 
thought  to  write  about  the  expostulation  in  your  last 
letter,  but  finally  I  think  I  would  rather  talk  with  you. 


156  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

"  The  next  number  we  will  do  far  better.  I  want  to 
open  it  with  your  article.  You  said  you  might  wish  to 
make  some  alterations  if  we  kept  it  —  do  you  wish  to 
have  it  sent  you,  the  first  part  is  left  in  type ;  they  had 
printed  a  good  deal  before  finding  it  would  be  too  long. 
E.  H.'s  <  Poet/  some  of  C.'s  best,  Ellery,  and  « The  Bard 
born  out  of  Time,'  we  must  have  for  that." 1 

The  poem  described  in  these  last  words  will 
readily  be  recognized  as  Emerson's  since  cele 
brated  "  Wood-Notes."  The  "Ellery"  is  an  ar 
ticle  by  Emerson  entitled  "  New  Poetry "  and 
made  up  chiefly  of  extracts  from  Ellery  Chan- 
ning's  poems  —  an  essay  received  with  mingled 
admiration  and  rage  by  the  critics,  and  with  espe 
cial  wrath  by  Edgar  Poe.  "  E.  H.'s  4  Poet '  "  was 
a  strong  poem,  also  contained  in  the  second  num 
ber  of  tho  "  Dial,"  by  Mrs.  Ellen  Hooper,  wife  of 
Dr.  R.  W.  Hooper, —  a  woman  of  genius,  who  gave 
our  literature  a  classic  in  the  lines  beginning,  — 

"  I  slept,  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty." 
Margaret  Fuller  wrote  of  her  long  afterwards 
from  Rome,  "  I  have  seen  in  Europe  no  woman 
more  gifted  by  nature  than  she."  Another  of  the 
"Dial"  poets  was  the  sister  of  this  lady,  Miss 
Caroline  Sturgis,  afterwards  Mrs.  William  Tap- 
pan,  "  some  of  whose  best "  are  contained  in  this 
same  second  number  of  the  "  Dial,"  where  her 
contributions  are  signed  "  Z."  The  opening 
paper  of  this  second  number,  "  Thoughts  on  Mod 
ern  Literature,"  by  Emerson,  still  yields  to  the 
i  MS. 


THE  DIAL.  157 

reader  so  much  in  the  way  of  suggestion  and 
criticism  as  to  impart  especial  interest  to  the  fol 
lowing  letter ;  and  this,  moreover,  shows  how 
fearlessly  Miss  Fuller  and  her  associate,  the  Rev. 
George  Ripley,  criticised  their  most  revered  con 
tributor  :  — 

"19th  July,  1840. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  too  warm  for  my  dear  friend  to  write, 
at  least  to  so  dull  a  correspondent,  or  perhaps  it  is  that 
I  have  asked  so  many  things.  I  am  sorry  you  did  not 
send  the  verses,  for  I  wanted  to  take  one  or  two  for 
filling  the  gaps,  and  now  have  been  obliged  to  take  some 
not  so  good.  Have  you  not  some  distichs  to  bestow  ? 
I  have  two  or  three  little  things  of  yours  which  I  wished 
very  much  to  use,  but  thought  I  must  not  without  your 
leave. 

"  When  I  wrote  the  first  line  of  this  letter  I  thought 
I  should  fill  it  up  with  some  notes  I  wished  to  make  on 
the  Hall  of  Sculpture.  But  I  was  obliged  to  stop  by  a 
violent  attack  of  headache,  and  now  I  am  not  fit  to  write 
anything  good,  and  will  only  scribble  a  few  lines  to  send 
with  your  proof  which  Mr.  R.  [Ripley]  left  with  me. 
He  is  much  distressed  at  what  he  thinks  a  falling  off  in 
the  end  of  your  paragraph  about  the  majestic  artist,  and 
I  think  when  you  look  again  you  will  think  you  have 
not  said  what  you  meant  to  say.  The  '  eloquence '  and 
'wealth,'  thus  grouped,  have  rather  Fair  bourgeois. — 
'  Saddens  and  gladdens '  is  good.  Mr.  R.  hates  pretti- 
nesses,  as  the  mistress  of  a  boarding-house  hates  flower 
vases. 

"  *  Dreadful  melody '  does  not  suit  me.  The  dreadful 
has  become  vulgarized  since  its  natal  day. 

**  So  much  for  impertinence  !     I  am  very  glad  I  am 


158  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLl 

to  own  these  remarks  about  the  Meister.  As  to  the 
genius  of  Goethe,  the  statement,  though  so  much  better 
than  others,  is  too  imperfect  to  be  true.  He  requires 
to  be  minutely  painted  in  his  own  style  of  hard  finish. 
As  he  never  gave  his  soul  in  a  glance,  so  he  cannot  be 
painted  at  a  glance.  I  wish  this  '  Kosmos  Beauty  '  was 
not  here  over  again.  One  does  not  like  their  friend  to 
have  any  way,  anything  peculiar ;  he  must  be  too  indi 
vidual  to  be  known  by  a  cough  or  a  phrase.  And  is 
this  costly  true  to  the  sense  of  kostliche ;  that  means 
'  worthy  a  high  price,'  the  other  ;  obtained  at  a  high  price,' 
n'est-ce  pas  ?  I  cannot  like  that  illustration  of  the  hu 
mors  of  the  eye.  I  wish  the  word  whipped  was  never 
used  at  all,  and  here  it  is  twice  in  nearest  neighborhood. 
"  At  this  place  I  was  obliged  to  take  to  my  bed,  — 
my  poor  head  reminding  me  that  I  was  in  no  state  for 
criticism." 

On  comparing  these  criticisms  with  tbe  paper 
under  discussion,1  it  will  be  found  that  while  Emer 
son  has  retained  the  words  "  humors  "  and,  in  one 
case  "  whipped,"  in  spite  of  criticism,  he  has 
dropped  the  other  causes  of  offense.  The  fine 
paragraph  on  Goethe  now  closes  as  follows :  — 

"  Let  him  pass.  Humanity  must  wait  for  its  physi 
cian  still,  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  confess  as  this 
man  goes  out  that  they  have  served  it  better  who  as 
sured  it  out  of  the  innocent  hope  in  their  hearts  that  a 
physician  will  come,  than  this  majestic  artist,  with  all  the 
treasures  of  wit,  of  science,  and  of  power  at  his  com 
mand." 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  if  this  last  clause  originally 

l  Dial,  i.  pp.  136-158. 


THE  DIAL.  159 

contained  the  words  "  eloquence  "  and  "  wealth  " 
it  is  greatly  strengthened  by  the  change. 

As  to  obtaining  a  verse  from  Emerson  to  fill 
the  gap  at  the  close  of  his  paper,  her  appeal  seems 
to  have  been  successful  ;  the  five  lines  called 
"  Silence  "  being  placed  there,  which,  although 
not  included  by  him  in  his  published  volumes,  are 
now  printed  as  his  by  his  editor,  Mr.  Cabot.  At 
the  time  of  its  first  appearance  the  little  verse 
was  regarded  as  rather  grotesque ;  and  it  will 
never,  perhaps,  be  placed  among  his  happiest  ef 
forts. 

The  storm  of  criticism  which  opened  upon  the 
44  Dial,"  at  the  very  outset,  was  something  formid 
able.  It  was  directed  even  at  the  very  moderate 
peculiarities  of  Emerson ;  the  "  Knickerbocker," 
a  New  York  monthly,  making  great  fun  of  his 
opening  essay,  which  it  derided  as  "  literary  eu 
phuism."  But  the  chief  assault  fell  upon  Alcott's 
"  Orphic  Sayings,"  which  provoked  numerous  par 
odies,  the  worst  of  which  Mr.  Alcott  composedly 
pasted  into  his  diary,  indexing  them,  with  his 
accustomed  thoroughness  and  neatness,  as  "  Par 
odies  on  Orphic  Sayings."  Epithets,  too,  were 
showered  about  as  freely  as  imitations ;  the  Phil 
adelphia  "  Gazette,"  for  instance,  calling  the  editors 
of  the  new  journal  "zanies,"  "Bedlamites,"  and 
"  considerably  madder  than  the  Mormons." 

It  will  convey  some  impression  of  the  difficul 
ties  which  Margaret  Fuller,  as  leading  editor,  had 
to  meet,  when  we  consider  that,  all  this  time,  Mr. 


160  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

Alcott  and,  perhaps,  others  of  the  stricter  school 
of  Transcendentalism,  were  shaking  their  heads 
over  the  "Dial"  as  being  timid,  compromising,  and, 
in  fact,  rather  a  worldly  and  conventional  affair. 
Even  before  its  actual  birth  we  find  him  writing 
in  his  diary,  "  I  fear  that  the  work  will  consult 
the  temper,  and  be  awed  by  the  bearing  of  existing 
things."  l  After  the  first  number  he  writes  to  Dr. 
Marston  in  England,  "  It  is  but  a  twilight 4  Dial ; ' ' 
and  to  Charles  Lane,  "  This  '  Dial '  of  ours  should 
have  been  a  truer.  It  does  not  content  the  public, 
nor  even  ourselves.  Yours,  the  '  Monthly  Maga 
zine'  [Heraud's],  pleases  me  better  in  several  as 
pects."  To  Heraud  he  writes  at  the  same  time : 
"  The  '  Dial '  partakes  of  our  vices,  it  consults  the 
mood  and  is  awed  somewhat  by  the  bearing  of 
existing  orders,  yet  is  superior  to  our  other  liter 
ary  organs,  and  satisfies  in  part  the  hunger  of  our 
youth.  It  satisfies  me  not,  nor  Emerson.  It 
measures  not  the  meridian  but  the  morning  ray ; 
the  nations  wait  for  the  gnomon  that  shall  mark 
the  broad  noon."  2 

These  remarks  are  of  value  as  illustrating  the 
difficulty  that  Margaret  Fuller  had  to  encounter 
in  endeavoring  to  keep  her  magazine  somewhere 
midway  between  the  demands  of  Theodore  Par 
ker  on  the  one  side  and  those  of  Alcott  on  the 
other.  What  Theodore  Parker  alone  would  have 
made  it  may  be  judged  by  his  "  Massachusetts 

1  Alcott's  MS.  Diary,  xiv.  65. 

2  Ibid.  xiv.  65,  146,  150,  157. 


THE  DIAL.  161 

Quarterly  Review,"  which  followed  it ;  which,  as 
he  said,  was  to  be  the  "  Dial  "  with  a  beard,  but 
which  turned  out  to  be  the  beard  without  the 
"  Dial."  What  Mr.  Alcott  alone  would  have 
made  of  it  may  be  judged  by  Heraud's  "  Monthly 
Magazine,"  which  did  not,  any  more  than  Par 
ker's  "  Quarterly,"  bear  comparison  in  real  worth 
and  suggestiveness  with  the  "  Dial "  itself.  That 
on  Alcott,  at  least,  some  gentle  restrictive  pres 
sure  had  to  be  exercised  may  be  seen  by  his 
rather  indignant  introduction  to  "  Days  from  a 
Diary,"  in  the  last  number  that  Margaret  Fuller 
edited.  Here  he  chafes  at  some  delay  in  publish 
ing  his  contribution,  and  adds  significantly  :  "  The 
4  Dial '  prefers  a  style  of  thought  and  diction  not 
mine  ;  nor  can  I  add  to  its  popularity  with  its 
chosen  readers.  A  fit  organ,  for  such  as  myself, 
is  not,  but  is  to  be.  The  times  require  a  free 
speech,  a  wise,  brave  sincerity,  unlike  all  examples 
in  literature  ;  of  which  the  '  Dial '  is  but  the  pre 
cursor.  A  few  years  more  will  give  us  all  we 
desire  —  the  people  all  they  ask."  l 

When  we  consider  with  what  fidelity  the  editors 
had  held  to  him,  although  by  all  odds  their  least 
popular  contributor,  it  must  be  admitted  that  tliis 
affords  a  new  illustration  of  the  difficulty  of  keep 
ing  radicals  in  a  common  harness. 

After  the  third  number,  Margaret  Fuller  thus 
writes  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing :  — 

1  Dial,  ii.  409. 
11 


162  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

"February^,  1841. 

"  Write  to  me  whatever  you  think  about  the  *  Dial.' 
I  wish  very  much  to  get  interested  in  it,  and  I  can  only 
do  so  by  finding  those  I  love  and  prize  are  so.  It  is 
very  difficult  to  me  to  resolve  on  publishing  any  of  my 
own  writing :  it  never  seems  worth  it,  but  the  topmost 
bubble  on  my  life  ;  and  the  world,  the  Public  !  alas  !  — 
give  me  to  realize  that  there  are  individuals  to  whom  I 
can  speak ! " 

She  appears,  by  her  correspondence,  to  have 
had  the  usual  trials  of  an  editor  in  respect  to 
the  procrastination  of  others  ;  and  we  find  her  ac 
tively  angling  for  contributions  from  Emerson, 
Parker,  Hedge,  Alcott,  Channing,  Clarke,  Dwight, 
Cranch,  and  the  rest.  Parker  even  sent  her  po 
etry,  as  appears  by  the  following  letter  from 
him :  — 

"  Herewith  I  send  you  a  couple  of  little  bits  of  verse, 
which  I  confess  to  you,  sub  rosa  rosissimd,  are  mine. 
Now,  I  don't  think  myself  made  for  a  poet,  least  of  all 
for  an  amatory  poet.  So,  if  you  throw  the  lines  under 
the  grate,  in  your  critical  wisdom,  I  shall  not  be  grieved, 
vexed,  or  ruffled  ;  for,  though  I  have  enough  of  the  irri- 
tabile  in  my  composition,  I  have  none  of  the  irritabile 
vatis."  2 

These  distrusted  love  verses  were,  as  I  learn 
from  Mr.  G.  W.  Cook,  those  printed  in  the  "  Dial  " 
for  July,  1841,  under  the  name  of  "  Protean 
Wishes."  3 

1  MS.  2  Weiss's  Parker,  ii.  303. 

8  Dial,  ii.  77. 


THE  DIAL.  163 

Besides  these  well-known  contributors,  she  also 
applied  to  other  literary  friends,  whose  response 
apparently  never  came.  Among  them  was  her 
old  friend  at  Providence,  Albert  G.  Greene,  then 
the  recognized  head  of  the  literary  society  of  that 
city.  To  him  she  writes,  October  2,  1840 : 
44  Where  are  the  poems  and  essays,  4  Pumpkin 
Monodies,'  and  *  Militia  Musters,'  we  were  prom 
ised?  Send  them,  I  pray,  forthwith."  These 
were  humorous  poems,  in  which  Mr.  Greene  was 
prolific,  though  only  one  of  this  class  of  his  pro 
ductions,  4t  Old  Grimes,"  has  survived  to  posterity. 
They  would  have  been  oddly  out  of  place  in  the 
"  Dial,"  had  they  arrived. 

In  her  first  two  years  of  editorship  she  brought 
into  prominence  a  series  of  writers  each  of  whom 
had  his  one  statement  to  make,  and,  having  made 
it,  discreetly  retired.  Such  were  the  Rev.  W.  D. 
Wilson,  who  wrote  u  The  Unitarian  Movement  in 
New  England  ;  "  the  Rev.  Thomas  T.  Stone,  who 
wrote  "  Man  in  the  Ages ; "  Mrs.  Ripley,  the 
gifted  wife  of  the  Rev.  George  Ripley,  who  wrote 
on  "  Woman  ;  "  Professor  John  M.  Mackie,  now  of 
Providence,  R.  I.,  who  wrote  of  "  Shelley  ;  "  Dr. 
Francis  Tuckerman,  who  wrote  "  Music  of  the  Win 
ter  ; "  John  A.  Saxton,  father  of  the  well-known 
military  governor  of  South  Carolina,  who  wrote 
44  Prophecy  —  Transcendentalism  -  -  Progress  ;  " 
the  Rev.  W.  B.  Greene,  a  West  Point  graduate, 
and  afterwards  colonel  of  the  Fourteenth  Mas 
sachusetts  Volunteers,  who  wrote  "First  Princi- 


164  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

pies."  Miss  Fuller  herself  wrote  the  more  mys 
tical  sketches  —  "  Klopstock  and  Meta,"  "  The 
Magnolia  of  Lake  Pontchartrain,"  "Yucca  Fila- 
mentosa,"  and  "  Leila ; "  as  well  as  the  more 
elaborate  critical  papers  —  "  Goethe,"  "  Lives  of 
the  Great  Composers,"  and  "  Festus."  Poetry  was 
supplied  by  Clarke,  Cranch,  Dwight,  Thoreau, 
Ellery  Channing,  and,  latterly,  Lowell ;  while  Par 
ker  furnished  solid,  vigorous,  readable,  common- 
sense  articles,  which,  as  Mr.  Emerson  once  told 
me,  "  sold  the  numbers."  It  is  a  curious  fact  that 
the  only  early  "  Dial "  to  which  Parker  contrib 
uted  nothing  was  that  which  called  down  this 
malediction  from  Carlyle :  — 

"  The  '  Dial,'  too,  it  is  all  spirit-like,  aeriform,  aurora- 
horealislike.  Will  no  Angel  body  himself  out  of  that ; 
no  stalwart  Yankee  man  with  color  in  the  cheeks  of  him, 
and  a  coat  on  his  back  ?  " 

Yet  Theodore  Parker  was  a  good  deal  more  stal 
wart  than  Carlyle,  had  more  color  in  his  cheeks, 
and  wore  a  more  presentable  coat  on  his  back  ;  and 
he  had  written  an  exceedingly  straightforward 
paper  for  every  number  before  that  of  October, 
1841.  This,  as  it  happened,  was  prepared  under 
difficulties,  and  Margaret  Fuller  herself  had  to 
write  eighty-five  of  its  one  hundred  and  thirty -six 
pages.  It  is  plain,  from  the  reluctance  to  write 
which  she  so  often  expresses,  that  she  occupied  this 
occasional  prominence  against  her  will.  Instead  of 
being  a  monopolist,  she  appears  as  the  scapegoat 

1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  i.  352 


THE   DIAL.  165 

of  the  procrastination  of  others.  To  fill  with  first- 
class  material  a  magazine  which  does  not  pay  a 
dollar,  and  has  only  twelve  free  copies  for  all  con 
tributors  put  together,  is  not  so  easy.  In  case  of 
gaps,  she  must  supply  them.  In  such  event,  at 
the  last  moment  she  must  revert  to  her  copious 
note-books,  and  do  that  from  which  every  careful 
writer  shrinks  —  treat  hurriedly  and  superficially 
some  theme  that  had  been  reserved  for  the  care 
ful  elaboration  of  more  fortunate  months.  Mr, 
Emerson  testifies  to  his  "  grateful  wonder "  l  at 
the  courage  with  which  she  could  do  this;  and  we 
see  it  recorded  in  such  passages  as  the  following, 
which  is  taken  from  a  letter  to  her  mother,  writ 
ten  on  Christmas  Day,  either  in  1840  or  1841 :  — 

"  I  am  in  a  state  of  extreme  fatigue  ;  this  is  the  last 
week  of  the  '  Dial,'  and,  as  often  happens,  the  copy  did 
not  hold  out,  and  I  have  had  to  write  in  every  gap  of 
time.  M.  and  J.  [two  young  ladies,  her  pupils]  have 
been  writing  for  me  extracts,  etc.,  but  I  have  barely 
scrambled  through,  and  am  now  quite  unfit  to  hold  a 
pen."  2 

She  had  one  essential  attribute  of  an  editor,  in 
a  keen  and  impartial  judgment  of  her  contribu 
tors.  "  I  wish,"  she  writes  in  her  diary,  "  I  could 
overcome  my  distrust  of  Mr.  Alcott's  mind."  3  Of 
Theodore  Parker  she  says :  "  He  cannot  be  the 
leader  of  my  journal,  .  .  .  but  his  learning  and 
just  way  of  thinking  will  make  him  a  very  valu* 

i  Memoirs,  i.  324.  2  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  287. 

8  Fuller  MSS.  i.  599. 


166  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

able  aid."  1  This  capital  remark  is  also  mad  j, 
in  one  case,  upon  a  rather  elaborate  contributor : 
"  It  was  pity  to  break  Mr.  Lane's  piece.  He  needs 
to  fall  his  whole  length  to  show  his  weight."  2 
But  best  of  all  is  this  clear  statement,  in  which, 
even  against  the  authority  of  Emerson,  she  pleads 
for  breadth  of  judgment :  — 

"CAMBRIDGE,  12th  November,  1843. 

..."  When  I  had  the  care  of  the  '  Dial,'  I  put  in 
what  those  connected  with  me  liked,  even  when  it  did 
not  well  please  myself,  on  this  principle,  that  I  consid 
ered  a  magazine  was  meant  to  suit  more  than  one  class 
of  minds.  As  I  should  like  to  have  writings  from  you, 
Mr.  Ripley,  Mr.  Parker,  etc.,  so  I  should  like  to  have 
writings  recommended  by  each  of  you.  I  thought  it 
less  important  that  everything  in  it  should  be  excellent, 
than  that  it  should  represent  with  some  fidelity  the  state 
of  mind  among  us,  as  the  name  of  i  Dial '  said  was  its 
intent. 

"  So  I  did  not  regard  your  contempt  for  the  long 
prosa  on  '  Transcendentalism  —  Progress,'  etc.,  any 
more  than  Parker's  disgust  at  Henry  Thoreau's  pieces. 

"  You  go  on  a  different  principle ;  you  would  have 
everything  in  it  good  according  to  your  taste,  which  is, 
in  my  opinion,  though  admirable  as  far  as  it  goes,  far 
too  narrow  in  its  range.  This  is  your  principle  ;  very 
well !  I  acquiesce,  just  as  in  our  intercourse  I  do  not 
expect  you  to  do  what  I  consider  justice  to  many  things 
I  prize.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  not  care  for  your  not  liking  the  piece,  because, 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  599. 

2  MS.  letter  to  Emerson,  August  5,  1843. 


THE  DIAL.  167 

when  you  wrote  in  your  journal  that  I  cared  for  tal 
ent  as  well  as  genius,  I  accepted  the  words  written  IL 
dispraise  as  praise.  I  wish  my  tastes  and  sympathie* 
still  more  expansive  than  they  are,  instead  of  more  se 
vere.  Here  we  differ."  1 

It  was  in  reference  to  this  same  point  that  she 
wrote  in  her  journal  thus  :  — 

"  My  friend  spoke  it  in  blame  that  I  could  prize  talent 
as  well  as  genius  ;  but  why  not  ?  Do  not  Nature  and 
God  the  same  ?  The  criticism  of  man  should  not  dispar 
age  and  displace,  but  appreciate  and  classify  what  it  finds 
existent.  Let  me  recognize  talent  as  well  as  genius,  un 
derstanding  as  well  as  reason,  —  but  each  in  its  place. 
Let  me  revere  the  statue  of  Moses,  but  prize  at  its  due 
rate  yon  rich  and  playful  grotesque.  Also,  cannot  one 
see  the  merit  of  a  stripling,  fluttering  muse  like  that 
of  Moore,  without  being  blind  to  the  stately  muse  of 
Dante  ?  " 2 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  although  Miss  Ful 
ler's  salary,  as  editor  of  the  "Dial,"  was  nomi 
nally  $200,  she  practically  had  nothing  ;  and  early 
in  its  second  year  she  writes  to  her  brother  Rich 
ard  (November  5,  1841)  :  "  I  have  begun  with  a 
smaller  class  this  year  than  usual,  and  the  4  Dial '  is 
likely  to  fall  through  entirely."  In  the  same  let 
ter,  and  at  a  time  of  such  discouragement  as  this, 
she  proposes  to  her  brother  that  they  should  unite 
in  advancing  $300  to  an  older  brother  in  Louis 
iana  ;  she  pledging  herself,  however,  to  become 
responsible  for  the  whole  amount,  if  necessary, 

i  MS.  2  Fuller  MSS.  i.  589. 


168  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

though  then  possessed  of  but  about  $500  in  the 
world.1  Such  acts  of  sisterly  devotion  were  com 
mon  things  with  her  ;  and  this  is  mentioned  only 
to  show  out  of  what  patient  self-denial  the  "Dial" 
was  born. 

Four  months  later  she  was  compelled  to  lay 
down  her  task ;  her  own  statement  of  circum 
stances  being  as  follows,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Emer 
son,  and  briefly  indorsed  by  him  "  Margaret  Ful 
ler  —  March,  1842.  Stop  the  "  Dial  I  " 

"  MY  DEAR  WALDO,  —  I  requested  Miss  Peabody  to 
write  to  you,  but,  after  looking  over  her  letter,  I  want 
to  add  some  lines  myself.  I  hoped  they  would  get  at 
these  particulars  before  you  returned  from  New  York, 
that  you  might  hear  them  on  your  way  and  not  be 
teased  as  soon  as  you  arrive  at  your  quiet  home,  but 
you  came  earlier  than  I  had  expected.  Yesterday  I 
found  myself  so  unwell,  and  really  exhausted,  [while] 
letters  received  from  the  family  made  my  stay  here  so 
uncertain,  that  I  wrote  the  little  notice  with  regard  to  the 
possibility  of  suspending  the  'Dial'  for  a  time,  feeling 
that  I  must  draw  back  from  my  promise  that  I  would 
see  to  the  summer  number  ;  but  this  morning  after  J. 
Clarke  and  Miss  P.  had  at  last  the  means  of  almost 
entirely  examining  the  accounts,  they  give  me  the  result 
you  find  in  her  letter  to  you,  which  makes  it  impossible 
for  me  to  go  on  at  all. 

"  I  could  not  do  it,  in  future,  if  I  have  the  same  bur 
den  on  me  as  I  have  had  before,  even  as  well  as  I 
have  done.  There  is  a  perceptible  diminution  of  my 
strength,  and  this  winter  has  been  one  of  so  severe 
1  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  661. 


THE  DIAL.  169 

labor,  I  shall  not  recover  fully  from  it  for  two  or  three 
months.  Then,  if  I  must  take  up  a  similar  course 
next  winter,  and  have  this  tie  upon  me  for  the  summer, 
I  think  I  should  sink  under  it  entirely. 

"  I  grieve  to  disappoint  you  after  all  the  trouble  you 
have  taken.  I  am  also  sorry  myself,  for  if  I  could  have 
received  a  maintenance  from  this  '  Dial,'  I  could  have 
done  my  duties  to  it  well,  which  I  never  have  all  this 
time,  and  my  time  might  have  been  given  to  my  pen ; 
while  now,  for  more  than  three  months  I  have  been 
able  to  write  no  line  except  letters.  But  it  cannot  be 
helped.  It  has  been  a  sad  business. 

"  I  think  perhaps  Mr.  Parker  would  like  to  carry  it 
on  even  under  these  circumstances.  For  him,  or  for 
you,  it  would  be  much  easier  than  for  me,  for  you  have 
quiet  homes,  and  better  health.  Of  course,  if  you  do 
carry  it  on,  I  should  like  to  do  anything  I  can  to  aid 
you. 

"  There  must  be  prompt  answer,  as  the  press  will  wait. 
"  Your  affectionate  MARGARET."  l 

The  following  month,  after  the  appearance  of  a 
circular  from  Mr.  Emerson  announcing  the  con 
tinuance  of  the  magazine,  she  writes  as  follows  :  — 

"CANTON,  April  18  [1842]. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  received  your  letter  before  I 
left  Boston,  but  in  the  hurry  of  the  last  hours  could  not 
write  even  a  notelette  with  the  parcel  I  requested  J. 
Clarke  to  make  up  for  you  of  Borrow,  Longfellow,  some 
more  shreds  of  '  Dial,'  including  the  wearifu'  Napoleon, 
and  the  Prayer  Book,  if  Dorothea  Dix  could  be  induced 
to  grant  the  same.  What  awkward  thing  could  I  have 
i  MS. 


170  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

said  about  your  advertisement  ?  I  can't  think.  —  All 
was  understood,  except  that  you  had  said  '  I  should  put 
my  name  on  the  cover  and  announce  myself  as  editor, 
only  that  I  am  not  sure  I  can  bind  myself  for  so  long  as 
a  year,'  and  so  when  I  saw  the  advertisement  I  was 
glad,  and  only  so  far  surprised  as  that  I  had  not  felt 
sure  you  would  do  it.  —  How  many  tedious  words  ! 

"  I  think  I  shall  like  being  here  much  and  find  the 
rest  I  need.  The  country  is  tolerably  pretty,  gentle, 
unobtrusive  —  within  the  house  plain  kindness,  and  gen 
erally  a  silence  unbroken  except  by  the  sounds  from  the 
poultry,  or  the  wind ;  to  appreciate  which  blessing  one 
should  have  lived  half  a  year  in  a  boarding-house  with 
as  infirm  a  head  as  mine,  and  none  to  ward  off  inter 
ruptions,  sick  or  well." 

Emerson  wrote  thus  to  Carlyle  (March  31, 
1842)  in  regard  to  the  final  transfer  of  editorship 
to  himself  :  — 

"  I  should  tell  you  that  my  friend  Margaret  Fuller 
who  has  edited  our  little '  Dial  •  with  such  dubious  appro 
bation  on  the  part  of  you  and  other  men,  has  suddenly 
decided  a  few  days  ago  that  she  will  edit  it  no  more. 
The  second  volume  was  just  closing;  shall  it  live  for  a 
third  year  ?  You  should  know,  that  if  its  interior  and 
spiritual  life  has  been  ill-fed,  its  outward  and  bibliopolic 
existence  has  been  worse  managed.  Its  publishers 
failed,  its  short  list  of  subscribers  became  shorter,  and 
it  has  never  paid  its  laborious  editor,  who  has  been  very 
generous  of  her  time  and  labor,  the  smallest  remuner 
ation.  Unhappily,  to  me  alone  could  the  question  be 
put  whether  the  little  aspiring  starveling  should  be  re 
prieved  for  another  year.  I  had  not  the  cruelty  to  kill 


THE  DIAL.  171 

ft,  and  so  must  answer  with  my  own  proper  care  and 
nursing  for  its  new  life.  Perhaps  it  is  a  great  folly  in 
me  who  have  little  adroitness  in  turning  off  work  to  as 
sume  this  sure  vexation,  but  the  '  Dial '  has  certain  charms 
to  me  as  an  opportunity,  which  I  grudge  to  destroy. 
Lately  at  New  York  I  found  it  to  be  to  a  certain  class 
of  men  and  women,  though  few,  an  object  of  tenderness 
and  religion.  You  cannot  believe  it  ?  " 1 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  Emerson  in  his  printed 
letters  to  Carlyle  habitually  speaks  of  the  maga 
zine  as  "  Margaret  Fuller's,"  and  speaks  of  giving 
his  lectures  to  her  for  publication  rather  than  make 
any  other  use  of  them.2  His  loyalty  to  it  seemed 
inseparably  connected  with  his  loyalty  to  her,  and 
this  seems  to  have  been  true  in  a  measure  with  all 
its  contributors.  She  continued  to  write  much 
for  it  even  after  her  editorship  had  ceased  ;  but  is 
sometimes  found  so  discontented  with  her  own 
work  as  to  withhold  it.  After  the  death  of  Dr. 
Channing  she  thus  writes  to  Mr.  Emerson  (No 
vember  8,  1842)  :  -— 

"  Should  you  write  some  notice  of  Dr.  C.  for  your 
'  Dial '  if  I  did  not  ?  I  have  written,  but  the  record 
seems  best  adapted  for  my  particular  use,  and  I  do  not 
know  whether  I  shall  come  to  anything  more  general. 
If  you  should  not  write  more  than  you  have,  will  you 
send  me  your  one  stroke  on  the  nail-head  for  me  to  look 
at  ?  "  3 

Nothing  could  be  better  than  this  recognition 

1  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence,  i.  366. 

2  Ibid.  i.  287,  320.  8  MS. 


172  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

of  the  extraordinary  precision  and  vigor  of  Emer 
son's  single  strokes. 

The  "  Dial "  expired  after  four  years  of  preca 
rious  life.     Perhaps  those  who  best  recognized  its 
power  were  not  those  who  created  it,  and  who,  as 
parents,  recognized  with  anxious  eyes  the  defects 
of  their  child,  —  but  rather  those  who,  like  my 
self,  came  too  late  upon  the  scene  to  do  more  than 
have  some  boyish  copy  of  verses  judiciously  re 
jected  from  the  last  numbers,  and  who  yet  drew 
from  the  earlier  volumes  a  real  and  permanent  im 
pulse.     When  one  considers  the  part  since  played 
in  American  literature  and   life  by  those  whose 
youthful  enthusiasm  created  this  periodical,  it  is 
needless  to  say  that  their  words  kindled  much  life 
in  the  hearts  of  those  still  younger.     It  is  a  suf 
ficient  proof  of  the  advantage  of  this  potent  in 
fluence  that  it  worked  itself  clear,  at  last ;  and 
those  who  were  reared   on  the  "  Dial "  felt  the 
impulse  of  its  thought  without  borrowing  its  al 
leged  vagueness.     Nor  was  this  influence  limited 
to  America,  for  on  visiting  England  in  1846  Mar 
garet  Fuller  had  the  pleasure  of  writing  to  Emer 
son,  "  On  my  first  arrival  I  encountered  at  Liver 
pool  and  Manchester  a  set  of  devout  readers  of  the 
'  Dial,'  and  still  more  of  Emerson."  l 
i  Fuller  MSS.  i.  209. 


XI. 

BROOK  FARM. 

A  CHAPTER  on  Brook  Farm  would  be  hardly 
needed,  in  a  life  of  Margaret  Fuller,  but  for  one 
single  cause,  —  the  magic  wielded  by  a  man  of 
genius.  Zenobia  in  Hawthorne's  "  Blithedale  Ro 
mance  "  has  scarcely  a  trait  in  common  with  Mar 
garet  Fuller ;  yet  will  be  identified  with  her  while 
the  literature  of  the  English  language  is  read. 
Margaret  Fuller  had  neither  the  superb  beauty 
of  Zenobia,  nor  her  physical  amplitude,  nor  her 
large  fortune,  nor  her  mysterious  husband,  nor 
her  inclination  to  suicide  ;  nor,  in  fine,  was  she 
a  member  of  the  Brook  Farm  community  at  all. 
These  points  of  difference  would  seem  to  be 
enough,  but  were  these  ten  times  as  many  they 
would  all  be  unavailing,  and  the  power  of  the  ro 
mancer  would  outweigh  them  all.  It  is  impossible 
to  make  the  readers  of  fiction  understand  that  a 
novelist  creates  his  characters  as  spiders  their 
web,  attaching  the  thread  at  some  convenient 
point  and  letting  it  float  off  into  free  air ;  per 
haps  to  link  itself  at  last  to  something  very  far 
away.  George  Sand  has  well  said  that  to  copy 
any  character  precisely  from  nature  would  be  to 


174  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

make  it  unnatural ;  since  you  cannot  also  transfer 
to  your  book  all  the  surroundings  that  have  made 
that  character  what  it  is.  The  author  gets  his 
first  hint  from  some  real  person,  —  perhaps  from 
several,  —  and  all  the  rest  is  his  own ;  or  it  might 
almost  be  said  the  character's  own,  so  astounding 
is  the  way  in  which  these  visionary  people  take 
their  fates  into  their  own  hands  and  perhaps  do 
the  precise  things  which  their  creator  intended  to 
prevent.  If  all  this  is  true  of  the  most  common 
place  novelist,  it  is  especially  true  of  the  most 
ideal  of  all  writers  of  fiction,  Hawthorne.  Even 
his  real  people,  when  he  writes  what  he  means 
for  sober  history,  become  almost  ideal  in  the  at 
mosphere  he  paints ;  how  much  more  with  those 
in  his  romances.  That  there  was  a  certain  queen- 
liness  about  Margaret  Fuller,  that  she  sometimes 
came  to  Brook  Farm,  and  that  a  cow  which  was 
named  after  her  lorded  it  over  the  other  cows  ; 
this  was  all  that  she  really  contributed  to  Haw 
thorne's  Zenobia ;  and  much  less  than  this  would 
have  been  sufficient  for  his  purpose. 

Nevertheless  Brook  Farm  was  for  a  few  years 
a  fact  so  large  among  the  circle  to  which  she  be 
longed  that  it  is  well  to  have  some  good  reason 
for  introducing  it  here.  It  was  one  of  the  best  — 
probably  the  best  —  incarnation  of  the  ardent  and 
wide-reaching  reformatory  spirit  of  that  day.  It 
was  a  day  when  it  certainly  was  very  pleasant  to 
live,  although  it  is  doubtful  whether  living  would 
have  remained  as  pleasant,  had  one  half  the  proj- 


BROOK  FARM.  175 

ects  of  the  period  become  fulfilled.  The  eighty- 
two  pestilent  heresies  that  were  already  reckoned 
up  in  Massachusetts  before  1638,  or  the  "  genera 
tion  of  odd  names  and  natures  "  which  the  Earl  of 
Strafford  found  among  the  English  Roundheads, 
could  hardly  surpass  those  of  which  Boston  was 
the  centre  during  the  interval  between  the  year 
1835  and  the  absorbing  political  upheaval  of  1848. 
The  best  single  picture  of  the  period  is  in  Emer 
son's  lecture  on  "New  England  Reformers,"  de 
livered  in  March,  1844  ;  but  it  tells  only  a  part 
of  the  story,  for  one  very  marked  trait  of  the 
period  was  that  the  agitation  reached  all  circles. 
German  theology,  as  interpreted  by  Brownson, 
Parker,  and  Ripley,  influenced  the  more  educated 
class,  and  the  Second  Advent  excitement  equally 
prepared  the  way  among  the  more  ignorant.  The 
anti-slavery  movement  was  the  profoundest  moral 
element,  on  the  whole,  but  a  multitude  of  special 
enterprises  also  played  their  parts.  People  habit 
ually  spoke,  in  those  days,  of  "  the  sisterhood  of 
reforms,"  and  it  was  in  as  bad  taste  for  a  poor 
man  to  have  but  one  hobby  in  his  head  as  for  a 
rich  man  to  keep  but  one  horse  in  his  stable.  Mes 
merism  was  studied  ;  gifted  persons  gave  private 
sittings  for  the  reading  of  character  through  hand 
writing  ;  phrenology  and  physiology  were  ranked 
together;  Alcott  preached  what  Carlyle  called  a 
44  potato  gospel ;  "  Graham  denounced  bolted  flour  ; 
Edward  Palmer  wrote  tracts  against  money.  In  a 
paper  published  in  the  "  Dial "  for  July,  1842,  on 


176  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

the  u  Convention  of  Friends  of  Universal  Reform  " 
in  Boston,  Emerson  says  of  that  gathering :  — 

"  If  the  assembly  was  disorderly,  it  was  picturesque. 
Madmen,  madwomen,  men  with  beards,  Duukers,  Mug- 
gletonians,  Come-outers,  Groaners,  Agrarians,  Seventh- 
Day  Baptists,  Quakers,  Abolitionists,  Calviriists,  Unita 
rians,  and  Philosophers  —  all  came  successively  to  the 
top."  J 

Having  myself  attended  similar  meetings  soon 
after,  I  can  certify  that  this  is  not  an  exaggeration, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  a  plain,  unvarnished  tale.  It 
is  to  be  remembered,  too,  that  all  this  stir  came 
upon  a  society  whose  previous  habit  of  life  was 
decidedly  soberer  and  better  ordered  than  that  of 
to-day  ;  stricter  in  observance,  more  conventional 
in  costume.  There  could  hardly  be  a  better  il 
lustration  of  this  fact  than  when  Emerson  includes 
in  his  enumeration  of  eccentricities  "  men  with 
beards ; "  for  I  can  well  remember  when  Charles 
Burleigh  was  charged  with  blasphemy,  because 
his  flowing  locks  and  handsome  untrimmed  beard 
was  thought  to  resemble  —  as  very  likely  he  in 
tended  —  the  pictures  of  Jesus  Christ  ;  and  when 
Lowell  was  thought  to  have  formally  announced 
a  daring  impulse  of  radicalism,  after  he,  too,  had 
eschewed  the  razor.  The  only  memorial  we  re 
tain  unchanged  from  that  picturesque  period  is 
in  some  stray  member  of  the  "  Hutchinson  Fam 
ily"  who  still  comes  before  the  public  with  now 
whitening  locks  and  vast  collar  that  needs  no 

1  Dial,  iii.  101. 


BROOK  FARM.  177 

whitening ;  and  continues  to  sing  with  unchanged 
sweetness  the  plaintive  melodies  that  hushed  the 
stormiest  meeting  when  he  and  his  four  or  five 
long-haired  brothers  stood  grouped  round  their 
one  rose-bud  of  a  sister  like  a  band  of  Puritan 
Bohemians. 

Amid  all  these  wild  gospellers  came  and  went 
the  calm  figure  of  Emerson,  peaceful  and  un 
disturbed.  I  can  remember  that,  after  certain  of 
his  lectures  in  Boston,  his  chosen  hearers  habitu 
ally  gathered  to  meet  him  at  the  rooms  of  one 
young  man,  an  ardent  Fourierite,  though  not 
actually  a  Brook-Farmer.  Outside  the  door  was 
painted  in  flaming  colors  a  yellow  sun,  at  the  cen 
tre  of  whose  blazing  rays  was  the  motto  "  Uni 
versal  Unity,"  while  beneath  it  hung  another 
inscription  in  black  and  white  letters,  "  Please 
wipe  your  feet."  This  emblazonment  and  this 
caution  symbolized  the  whole  movement.  The 
gateway  of  Brook  Farm  might  have  been  simi 
larly  inscribed.  There  was  a  singular  moral  pu 
rity  about  it  which  observers  from  the  point  of 
view  of  Paris  or  even  London  have  since  found  a 
little  contemptible.  With  the  utmost  freedom  in 
all  things,  and  a  comprehensiveness  to  which  that 
of  "  the  latitude-men  about  Cambridge  "  in  Eng 
land  was  timid  conservatism,  Brook  Farm,  like  all 
other  haunts  of  the  "  come-outers  "  of  the  period, 
was  as  chaste  as  a  Shaker  household. 

But  it  will  readily  be  seen  that  amid  this  im 
pulse  of  universal  reform  some  such  enterprise  as 
12 


178  MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOLI. 

Brook  Farm  was  inevitable.  Already  at  New  Har 
mony,  Zoar,  and  elsewhere  in  the  Western  States, 
there  had  been  socialistic  experiments.  But  all 
the  others  were  more  or  less  imported  ;  this  was 
indigenous,  except  that,  like  all  other  profoundly 
sincere  movements,  it  borrowed  some  examples 
and  incentives  from  the  plains  of  Galilee.  The 
very  name  given  to  the  first  proclamation  of  the 
enterprise  in  the  "  Dial,"  "  A  Glimpse  at  Christ's 
Idea  of  Society,"  l  written  by  Miss  E.  P.  Pea- 
body,  shows  that  this  clear  element  of  religious 
impulse  came  first ;  the  Fourierite  gospel  arrived 
later,  and  rather  marked  the  decline.  To  those 
who  like  myself  visited  "  the  Community  "  only  as 
observant  and  rather  incredulous  boys,  under  guid 
ance  of  some  enlightened  cousin,  it  all  seemed  a 
very  pleasant  picnic,  where  youths  and  maidens 
did  pretty  much  what  they  wished,  and  sang  du 
ets  over  their  labors.  The  very  costume  was  by 
no  means  that  monotony  of  old  clothes  which 
Hawthorne  depicts  in  the  "  Blithedale  Romance," 
for  some  of  the  youths  looked  handsome  as  Ra 
phael  in  flowing  blouses  of  various  colors  and  pic 
turesque  little  vizor-less  caps,  exquisitely  unfitted 
for  horny-handed  tillers  of  the  soil.  Nowhere  was 
there  such  good  company  ;  young  men  went  from 
the  farm  to  the  neighboring  towns  to  teach  Ger 
man  classes  ;  there  were  masquerades  and  gypsy 
parties,  such  as  would  thrive  on  no  other  soil ; 
whatever  might  be  said  of  the  actual  glebe  of 

1  Dial,  ii.  214  (October,  1841). 


BROOK  FARM.  179 

Brook  Farm,  the  social  culture  was  of  the  richest. 
Those  who  ever  lived  there  usually  account  it 
to  this  day  as  the  happiest  period  of  their  lives. 
Even  the  shy  Hawthorne  does  some  justice  to 
this  aspect  of  the  society,  and  there  is  no  reason 
why  any  one  should  object  to  his  making  Mar 
garet  Fuller  a  leading  figure  in  its  short-lived 
circle,  except  the  fact —  justly  trivial  to  a  roman 
cer  —  that  she  was  not  there. 

She  doubtless,  like  Emerson,  joined  occasionally 
in  its  merry-makings.  In  his  "American  Note- 
Books,"  Hawthorne  once  describes  them  as  ap 
pearing  together  at  a  festival.  But  to  her,  from 
the  beginning,  it  was  simply  an  experiment  which 
had  enlisted  some  of  her  dearest  friends;  and, 
later,  she  found  at  Brook  Farm  a  sort  of  cloister 
for  occasional  withdrawal  from  her  classes  and  her 
conversations.  This  was  all ;  she  was  not  a  stock 
holder,  nor  a  member,  nor  an  advocate  of  the  en 
terprise  ;  and  even  "  Miss  Fuller's  cow  "  which 
Hawthorne  tried  so  hard  to  milk  l  was  a  being 
as  wholly  imaginary  as  Zenobia ;  although  old 
Brook-Farmers  report  that  Mr.  Ripley  was  fond 
of  naming  his  cattle  after  his  friends,  and  may, 
very  likely,  have  found  among  them  a  Margaret 
Fuller. 

Her  general  attitude  toward  the  associative 
movement,  at  the  outset,  may  be  seen  in  these 
sentences,  written  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing, 
after  a  public  meeting  of  the  faithful :  — 

1  American  Note-Books,  ii.  4. 


180  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

"  I  will  not  write  to  you  of  these  conventions  and  com' 
munities  unless  they  bear  better  fruit  than  yet.  This 
convention  was  a  total  failure,  as  might  be  expected 
from  a  movement  so  forced.  .  .  .  O  Christopher  Co 
lumbus  !  how  art  thou  admired  when  we  see  how  other 
men  go  to  work  with  their  lesser  enterprises."  1 

Again,  she  writes  of  an  interview  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ripley,  when  Brook  Farm  was  being  organ 
ized  (October  28,  1840)  :  — 

"  In  town  I  saw  the  Ripleys.  Mr.  R.  more  and  more 
wrapt  in  his  new  project.  He  is  too  sanguine,  and  does 
not  take  time  to  let  things  ripen  in  his  mind ;  yet  his  aim 
is  worthy,  and  with  his  courage  and  clear  mind  his  ex 
periment  will  not,  I  think,  to  him  at  least,  be  a  failure. 
I  will  not  throw  any  cold  water,  yet  I  would  wish  him 
the  aid  of  some  equal  and  faithful  friend  in  the  begin 
ning,  the  rather  that  his  own  mind,  though  that  of  a 
captain,  is  not  that  of  a  conqueror.  I  feel  more  hopeful 
as  he  builds  less  wide,  but  cannot  feel  that  I  have  any 
thing  to  do  at  present,  except  to  look  on  and  see  the 
coral  insects  at  work. 

"  Ballou  was  with  him  to-night ;  he  seems  a  down 
right  person,  clear  as  to  his  own  purposes,  and  not  un 
willing  to  permit  others  the  pursuit  of  theirs."  2 

It  appears  from  Mr.  Alcott's  MS.  diary  that 
in  October,  1840,  while  the  whole  matter  was 
taking  form,  he  met  George  Ripley  and  Miss 
Fuller  at  Mr.  Emerson's  in  Concord,  for  the  pur- 

!MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 

2  MS.  The  Rev.  Adin  Ballou  was  a  well-known  leader  among 
the  Associationists  in  that  day,  yet  did  not  live  at  Brook  Farm, 
but  at  Mendon,  Mass. 


BROOK  FARM.  181 

pose  of  discussing  the  new  theme.  Neither  Alcott 
nor  Emerson  accepted  the  project  in  its  complete 
ness.1  During  the  following  month  Alcott  enumer 
ates  these  persons  as  being  likely  to  join  the  pro 
posed  community,  —  Ripley,  Emerson,  Parker,  S. 
D.  Robbins,  and  Miss  Fuller.2  But  I  know  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  any  of  these,  except  Mr.  Rip- 
ley  himself,  had  any  such  serious  intention ;  though 
Mr.  Emerson  himself  was  so  far  influenced  by  the 
prevailing  tendency  as  to  offer  to  share  his  house 
with  Mr.  Alcott  and  his  family,  while  suggesting 
that  other  like-minded  persons  should  settle  near 
them  in  Concord.  Mr.  Alcott  himself  speaks  of 
Brook  Farm  as  "  our  community  ; "  but  perhaps 
uses  the  words  in  a  very  general  sense. 

At  any  rate,  Brook  Farm  established  itself 
without  them,  and  though  Margaret  Fuller  often 
visited  it,  this  letter  to  Mr.  Emerson  shows  the 
motives,  quite  remote  from  Zenobia's,  with  which 
she  did  so,  —  that  she  might  be  gentle,  dull,  and 
silent ! 

"CAMBRIDGE,  IQth  May,  1841. 

"  Your  letter,  my  dear  friend,  was  received  just  as  I 
was  on  the  wing  to  pass  a  few  days  with  the  fledglings 
of  Community ;  and  I  have  only  this  evening  returned 
to  answer  it.  I  will  come  on  Saturday  afternoon  next 
if  no  cross  accident  mar  the  horizon  of  my  hopes,  and 
the  visible  heavens  drop  not  down  Niagaras.  All  that 
I  have  to  say  may  best  be  reserved  till  I  come  ;  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  be  economical,  for  I  have  of  late 

1  Alcott's  MS  Diary,  xiv.  170. 

2  Ibid.  xiv.  199. 


182  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

been  as  gentle,  as  dull,  and  as  silent  as  the  most  fussy 
old  bachelor  could  desire  his  housekeeper  to  be.  You 
said,  however,  I  could  come  and  live  there,  if  I  had  not 
a  mind  to  talk,  so  I  am  not  afraid,  but  will  come,  hoping 
there  may  be  a  flow  after  this  ebb,  which  has  almost 
restored  the  health  of  your  affectionate 

"  MARGARET."  J 

Again,  this  extract  from  a  letter  to  Mr.  Emer 
son  (August  10,  1842)  illustrates  the  same  point. 
It  seems  that  Professor  Farrar  and  his  wife  were 
to  have  taken  a  journey,  in  which  case  Margaret 
Fuller  would  have  remained  in  their  house  at  Cam 
bridge,  a  plan  that  would  have  "  insured  several 
weeks  of  stillness  and  solitude  "  for  her  ;  she  being 
"  tired  to  death  of  dissipation."  This  failing,  she 
expresses  willingness  to  go  to  Concord,  but,  should 
that  be  inconvenient,  she  can  go  to  Brook  Farm, 
as  the  next  best  medicine  :  — 

"  They  will  give  me  a  room  at  Brook  Farm,  if  I  wish, 
let  me  do  as  I  please,  and  I  think  if  I  went  there  to 
stay  I  could  keep  by  myself,  and  employ  myself,  if 
there  is  any  force  in  my  mind.  Beside,  I  will  not  give 
up  seeing  you.  If  you  do  not  want  me  to  stay  in  this 
unlimited  fashion  I  will  come  for  two  or  three  days,  on 
a  visit  technically  speaking.  But  I  want  to  know  be 
forehand  which  it  shall  be,  for,  if  I  come  to  stay,  I  shall 
bring  my  paper,  etc.,  but  if  not  I  shall  leave  them  here, 
write  to  Brook  Farm  to  engage  my  room,  and  go  there 
so  soon  as  I  have  seen  you  satisfactorily."  2 

However  she  might  dream  of  solitude,  she  could 
1  MS.  2  MS. 


BROOK  FARM.  183 

not  wholly  maintain  it,  even  in  these  "  retreats  " 
at  Brook  Farm.  She  seems  to  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  going  there  on  New  Year's  Eve ;  and 
there  are  among  her  papers  successive  meditations 
or  descriptions  at  that  time,  usually  introducing 
some  poem  of  her  own.  One  of  these  narratives 
is  as  follows :  — 

"Night  preceding  New  Year's  Day,  1844. 

"  The  moon  was  nearly  full,  and  shone  in  an  un 
clouded  sky  over  wild  fields  of  snow.  The  day  was 
Sunday,  a  happy  Sunday.  I  had  enjoyed  being  with 
William  equally  when  we  were  alone  or  with  these 
many  of  different  ages,  tempers,  and  relationships  with 
us,  for  all  seemed  bound  in  one  thought  this  happy 
day. 

"  William  addressed  them  in  the  morning  on  the 
Destiny  of  the  'Earth,  and  then  I  read  aloud  Ellery's 
poem  *  The  Earth.' l  .  .  .  But  in  the  night  the  thoughts 
of  these  verses  kept  coming,  though  they  relate  more  to 
what  had  passed  at  the  Fourier  convention,  and  to  the 
talk  we  had  been  having  in  Mrs.  R.'s  room,  than  to  the 
deeper  occupation  of  my  mind."  2 

To  find  how  this  dream  of  silence  filled  her 
soul,  at  times,  we  must  turn  to  another  passage 
in  the  same  letter  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing 
which  describes  her  interview  with  the  Ripleys :  — 

"  It  is  by  no  means  useless  to  preach.  In  my  expe 
rience  of  the  divine  gifts  of  solitude,  I  had  forgotten 
what  might  be  done  in  this  other  way.  O  that  crowd 

1  A  fine  poem  by  Ellery  Channing  beginning  — 

"  My  highway  is  unfeatured  air." 

2  MS. 


184        MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOLI. 

of  upturned  faces  with  their  look  of  unintelligent  com 
placency  !  Give  me  tears  and  groans,  rather,  if  there 
be  a  mixture  of  physical  excitement  and  bigotry.  Mr. 
Dewey  is  heard  because,  though  he  has  not  entered  into 
the  secret  of  piety,  he  wishes  to  be  heard  and  with  a 
good  purpose  ;  can  make  a  forcible  statement  and  kindle 
himself  with  his  own  thought.  How  many  persons 
must  there  be  who  cannot  worship  alone  since  they  are 
content  with  so  little.  Can  we  not  wake  the  spark  that 
will  weld  them,  till  they  take  beautiful  forms  and  can 
assist  each  alone  ?  Were  one  to  come  now  who  could 
purge  us  with  fire !  .  .  . 

"  But  all  my  tendency  at  present  is  to  the  deepest 
privacy.  —  Where  can  I  hide  till  I  am  given  to  myself  ? 
Yet  I  love  the  others  more  and  more,  and  when  they 
are  with  me  must  give  them  the  best  from  my  scrip. 
When  I  see  their  infirmities  I  would  fain  heal  them, 
forgetful  of  my  own  !  But  am  I  left  one  moment  alone, 
then,  a  poor  wandering  pilgrim,  yet  no  saint,  I  would 
seek  the  shrine ;  would  therein  die  to  the  world  and 
then  if  from  the  poor  reliques  some  miracle  might  be 
wrought,  that  is  for  them  ! 

"  Yet  some  of  these  saints  were  able  to  work  in  their 
generation,  for  they  had  renounced  all !  " 

It  may  have  been  on  one  of  these  New  Year's 
retreats  that  she  wrote  her  most  thoughtful  and 
most  artistic  poem ;  almost  the  only  one  of  hers 
to  which  the  last  epithet  could  be  applied,  if, 
indeed,  it  be  applicable  here.  The  poem  was 
printed  in  "Summer  on  the  Lakes,"  and  is  on 
a  theme  which  suited  her  love  of  mystic  colors 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


BROOK  FARM.  185 

and  symbols  —  the  tradition  of  the  Rosicrucians. 
The  modem  theory  is,  however,  that  this  word  did 
not  come  from  the  cross  and  the  rose,  as  she  as 
sumes,  but  from  the  cross  and  the  dew  (ros);  this 
last  substance  being  then  considered  as  the  most 
powerful  solvent  of  gold,  and  so  used  in  the  effort 
to  discover  the  philosopher's  stone. 

SUB  ROSA  CRUX. 

"  In  times  of  old,  as  we  are  told, 
When  men  more  child-like  at  the  feet 
Of  Jesus  sat,  than  now, 
A  chivalry  was  known  more  bold 
Than  ours,  and  yet  of  stricter  vow, 
Of  worship  more  complete. 

"  Knights  of  the  Rosy  Cross,  they  bore 
Its  weight  within  the  heart,  but  wore 
Without, devotion's  sign  in  glistening  ruby  bright; 
The  gall  and  vinegar  they  drank  alone, 
But  to  the  world  at  large  would  only  own 
The  wine  of  faith,  sparkling  with  rosy  light. 

"  They  knew  the  secret  of  the  sacred  oil 
Which,  poured  upon  the  prophet's  head, 
Could  keep  him  wise  and  pure  for  aye. 
Apart  from  all  that  might  distract  or  soil, 
With  this  their  lamps  they  fed, 
Which  burn  in  their  sepulchral  shrines  unfading  night  and  day 

"  The  pass-word  now  is  lost 
To  that  initiation  full  and  free  ; 
Daily  we  pay  the  cost 
Of  our  slow  schooling  for  divine  degree. 
We  know  no  means  to  feed  an  undying  lamp  ; 
Our  lights  go  out  in  every  wind  or  damp. 

"  We  wear  the  cross  of  ebony  and  gold, 
Upon  a  dark  back-ground  a  form  of  light, 


186  MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOLI. 

A  heavenly  hope  upon  a  bosom  cold, 

A  starry  promise  in  a  frequent  night ; 

The  dying  lamp  must  often  trim  again, 

For  we  are  conscious,  thoughtful,  striving  men. 

"  Yet  be  we  faithful  to  this  present  trust, 
Clasp  to  a  heart  resigned  the  fatal  must; 
Though  deepest  dark  our  efforts  should  enfold, 
Unwearied  mine  to  find  the  vein  of  gold  ; 
Forget  not  oft  to  lift  the  hope  on  high ; 
The  rosy  dawn  again  shall  fill  the  sky. 

"  And  by  that  lovely  light,  all  truth  revealed, 
The  cherished  forms  which  sad  distrust  concealed, 
Transfigured,  yet  the  same,  will  round  us  stand, 
The  kindred  angels  of  a  faithful  band  ; 
Ruby  and  ebon  cross  both  cast  aside, 
No  lamp  is  needed,  for  the  night  has  died. 

"  Be  to  the  best  thou  knowest  ever  true, 
Is  all  the  creed ; 

Then,  be  thy  talisman  of  rosy  hue, 
Or  fenced  with  thorns  that  wearing  thou  must  bleed, 
Or  gentle  pledge  of  Love's  prophetic  view, 
The  faithful  steps  it  will  securely  lead." 


XII. 

BOOKS  PUBLISHED. 

THE  first  sign  of  marked  literary  talent,  in  a 
young  person,  is  apt  to  be  an  omnivorous  passion 
for  books,  followed,  sooner  or  later,  by  the  desire 
to  produce  something ;  this  desire  often  taking 
experimental  and  fugitive  forms.  The  study  of 
"Sir  James  Mackintosh's  Life  and  Works,"  at 
Groton,  seems  to  have  impressed  Margaret  Ful 
ler  strongly  with  the  danger  of  miscellaneous  and 
desultory  preparation.  She  writes  :  — 

"The  copiousness  of  Sir  J.  Mackintosh's  reading 
journals  is,  I  think,  intimately  connected  with  his  liter 
ary  indolence.  Minds  of  great  creative  power  take  no 
pleasure  in  going  into  detail  on  the  new  materials  they 
receive,  —  they  assimilate  them  by  meditation  and  new 
creations  follow.  A  Scott,  a  Goethe,  would  neither  talk 
out  nor  write  down  the  reflections  suggested  by  what 
the  day  had  brought ;  they  would  be  transfused  into  new 
works."  1 

Later,  she  had  a  vision  of  writing  romances, 
like  George  Sand,  and  expressed  herself  thus  in 
her  diary :  — 

*  Fuller  MSS.  iii.  27b. 


188  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

[GROTON,  November,  1835.] 

"  These  books  have  made  me  for  the  first  time  think 
I  might  write  into  such  shapes  what  I  know  of  human 
nature.  I  have  always  thought  that  I  would  not,  that  I 
would  keep  all  that  behind  the  curtain,  that  I  would 
not  write,  like  a  woman,  of  love  and  hope  and  disap 
pointment,  but  like  a  man,  of  the  world  of  intellect  and 
action.  But  now  I  am  tempted,  and  if  I  can  but  do 
well  my  present  work  and  show  that  I  can  write  like  a 
man,  and  if  but  the  wild  gnomes  will  keep  from  me  with 
their  shackles  of  care  for  bread  in  all  its  shapes  of  fac 
titious  life,  I  think  I  will  try  whether  I  have  the  hand 
to  paint,  as  well  as  the  eye  to  see.  But  I  cannot  but 
feel  that  I  have  seen,  from  the  mouth  of  my  damp  cave, 
stars  as  fair,  almost  as  many,  as  this  person  from  the 
*  Fleche  of  the  Cathedral,'  where  she  has  ascended  at 
such  peril.  But  I  dare  boast  no  more ;  only,  please  fate, 
be  just  and  send  me  an  angel  out  of  this  golden  cloud 
that  comes  after  the  pelting  showers  I  have  borne  so 
long." l 

The  project  of  fiction  went  no  farther,  unless 
her  fragment  of  an  "  Autobiographical  Romance," 
written  in  1840,  was  the  result  of  it ;  and  her  first 
two  published  books  were,  naturally  enough,  trans 
lations  from  the  German.  She  had  expected,  as 
early  as  November  30,  1834,  as  appears  by  a  let 
ter  to  the  Rev.  F.  H.  Hedge,  to  print  her  trans 
lation  of  Goethe's  "  Tasso."  2  This  had  failed  to 
find  a  publisher;  but  several  years  later  George 

1  Fuller  MSS.  iii.  303-305.     The  allusion  is  to  George  Sand's 
Sept  Cordes  de  la  Lyre. 

2  Published  after  her  death,  in  her  Art,  Literature,  and  the 
Drama, 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  189 

Ripley  and  other  friends  of  hers  projected  and 
carried  out,  to  the  extent  of  fifteen  volumes,  a  se 
ries  of  "  Specimens  of  Foreign  Literature,"  com 
posed  of  translations  from  the  German  and  French. 
As  announced  in  the  preface  to  the  first  volume, 
dated  February  22,  1838,  the  series  was  to  have 
included  "A  Life  of  Goethe,  in  preparation  for 
this  work,  from  original  documents  ;  "  and  of  this 
memoir,  apparently,  Margaret  Fuller  was  to  have 
been  the  compiler.  For  some  reason  this  plan  was 
abandoned,  but  she  was  the  translator  and  editor 
of  the  fourth  volume  of  the  series,  containing  Eck- 
ermann's  "  Conversations  "  with  -the  great  Ger 
man  poet.  The  work  was  done,  as  her  preface 
states,  under  many  disadvantages,  much  of  it  be 
ing  dictated  to  others,  on  account  of  illness ;  and 
these  obstacles  were  the  more  felt,  inasmuch  as 
she  was  not  content  with  a  literal  translation,  but 
undertook  to  condense  some  passages  and  omit 
others.  Her  preface  is  certainly  modest  enough, 
and  underrates  instead  of  overstating  the  value  of 
her  own  work.  She  made  a  delightful  book  of  it, 
and  one  which,  with  Sarah  Austin's  "  Characteris 
tics  of  Goethe,"  helped  to  make  the  poet  a  familiar 
personality  to  English-speaking  readers.  For  one, 
I  can  say  that  it  brought  him  nearer  to  me  than 
any  other  book,  before  or  since,  has  ever  done. 
This  volume  was  published  at  Boston,  by  Hilliard, 
Gray  &  Co.,  in  1839,  —  her  preface  being  dated 
at  Jamaica  Plain  on  May  23  of  that  year,  —  and 
I  suspect  that  she  never  had  any  compensation 


190  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

for  it  beyond  the  good  practice  for  herself  and 
the  gratitude  of  others.  Her  preface  contains 
some  excellent  things,  giving  a  view  of  Goethe 
more  moderate  than  that  which  Carlyle  had  just 
brought  into  vogue,  though  she  still  was  ardent 
and  admiring  enough.  But  she  points  out  very 
well  —  though  perhaps  emphasizing  them  too 
much  —  some  of  the  limitations  of  Goethe's  na 
ture.  She  does  not  even  admit  him  to  be  in  the 
highest  sense  an  artist,  but  says,  "  I  think  he  had 
the  artist's  eye  and  the  artist's  hand,  but  not  the 
artist's  love  of  structure,"  —  a  distinction  admir 
ably  put. 

From  the  subject  of  Goethe  followed  naturally, 
in  those  days,  that  of  Bettina  Brentano,  whose 
correspondence  with  the  poet,  translated  in  an  at 
tractive  German-English  by  herself,  had  appeared 
in  England  in  1837,  and  had  been  reprinted  at 
Lowell,  Massachusetts,  in  1841.  Margaret  Fuller, 
in  the  "Dial"  in  January,  1842,1  had  called  atten 
tion  to  another  work  from  the  same  source :  the 
letters  that  had  passed,  at  an  earlier  period  than 
the  Goethe  correspondence,  between  Bettina  and 
her  friend  Caroline  von  Giinderode.  These  letters 
were  published  at  Leipzig  in  1840,  after  the  death 
of  Giinderode.  They  were  apparently  written  in 
the  years  1805-06,  when  Bettina  was  about  six 
teen  ;  and  she  in  her  letters  to  Goethe's  mother, 
published  in  "  Correspondence  of  a  Child,"  gives 
an  account  of  this  friend  and  her  tragic  death, 
1  Dial,  ii.  313. 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  191 

Bettina  is  now  little  read,  even  by  young  people, 
apparently,  but  she  then  gave  food  for  the  most 
thoughtful.  Emerson  says :  "  Once  I  took  such 
delight  in  Plato  that  I  thought  I  never  should 
need  any  other  book ;  then  in  Swedenborg,  then 
in  Montaigne,  —  even  in  Bettina  ;  "  and  Mr.  Al- 
cott  records  in  his  diary  (August  2,  1839),  "he 
[Emerson]  seems  to  be  as  much  taken  with  Bet 
tina  as  I  am."  For  the  young,  especially,  she  had 
a  charm  which  lasts  through  life,  insomuch  that 
the  present  writer  spent  two  happy  days  on  the 
Rhine,  so  lately  as  1878,  in  following  out  the 
traces  of  two  impetuous  and  dreamy  young  women 
whom  it  would  have  seemed  natural  to  meet  on 
any  hillside  path,  although  more  than  half  a  cen 
tury  had  passed  since  they  embalmed  their  mem 
ory  there. 

When  first  at  work  upon  this  translation,  Mar- 
geret  Fuller  wrote  thus  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Chan- 
ning :  — 

"  I  meant  to  have  translated  for  you  the  best  passages 
of  'Die  Giinderode'  (which  I  prefer  to  the  correspond 
ence  with  Goethe.  The  two  girls  are  equal  natures, 
and  both  in  earnest.  Goethe  made  a  puppet-show  for 
his  private  entertainment  of  Bettina's  life,  and  we  won 
der  she  did  not  feel  he  was  not  worthy  of  her  homage). 
But  I  have  not  been  well  enough  to  write  much,  and 
these  pages  are  only  what  I  have  dictated  ;  they  are  not 
the  best,  yet  will  interest  you.  The  exquisite  little 
poem  by  Giinderode  read  aloud  two  or  three  times,  that 
you  may  catch  the  music ;  it  is  of  most  sweet  mystery. 


192  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

She  is  to  me  dear  and  admirable,  Bettina  only  interest 
ing.  She  is  of  religious  grace,  Bettina  the  fullness  of 
nature."  l 

Again  she  writes  to  him,  copying  at  the  same 
time  Giinderode's  poem,  "  1st  Alles  stumm  und 
leer." 

"  Giinderode  is  the  ideal ;  Bettina,  nature ;  Gtinde- 
rode  throws  herself  into  the  river  because  the  world  is 
all  too  narrow.  Bettina  lives,  and  follows  out  every 
freakish  fancy,  till  the  enchanting  child  degenerates  into 
an  eccentric  and  undignified  old  woman.  There  is  a 
medium  somewhere.  Philip  Sidney  found  it;  others 
had  it  found  for  them  by  fate."  2 

Apart  from  all  other  aspects  of  interest,  Marga 
ret  Fuller's  translation  of  the  first  part  of  these 
letters  is  perhaps  the  best  piece  of  literary  work 
that  she  ever  executed  ;  so  difficult  was  it  to 
catch  the  airy  style  of  these  fanciful  German 
maidens;  and  so  perfectly  well  did  she  succeed, 
preserving  withal  the  separate  individualities  of 
tbe  two  correspondents.  Only  one  thin  pamphlet 
was  published,  in  1842,  containing  about  a  quar 
ter  part  of  the  letters.  It  appeared  without  her 
name;  and  apparently  there  was  not  enough  of 
patronage  to  lead  her  on ;  but,  after  the  death  of 
Bettina  von  Arnim,  tbe  translation  was  completed 
by  Mrs.  Minna  Wesselhoeft  at  the  suggestion  of 
Miss  Elizabeth  P.  Peabody,  the  original  pub 
lisher,  and  was  printed  with  Margaret  Fuller's 

i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.)  2  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  193 

Fragment,  by  a  Boston  bookseller  (Burnham)  in 
1860.  There  is  nothing  in  the  reprint  to  indi 
cate  the  double  origin,  but  the  point  of  transition 
between  the  two  translations  occurs  at  the  end  of 
the  first  letter  on  page  86 ;  while  this  volume,  as 
completed,  retains  Margaret  Fuller's  original  pref 
ace  and  an  extract  from  her  "  Dial "  essay.  Mrs. 
Wesselhoeft  informs  me  that  she  revised  Miss 
Fuller's  part  of  the  translation,  but  found  noth 
ing  to  correct  save  two  or  three  colloquial  idioms, 
pretty  sure  to  be  misinterpreted  by  one  not  a  na 
tive  of  Germany. 

Margaret  Fuller's  first  original  work  was  the 
fruit  of  the  only  long  journey  she  ever  took,  in 
her  own  country ;  a  summer  spent  in  traveling  in 
what  was  then  called  "  the  far  West "  (May  25 
to  September  19, 1843)  with  her  life-long  friends, 
James  Freeman  Clarke  and  his  sister  Sarah,  under 
the  guidance  of  their  brother,  William  H.  Clarke, 
of  Chicago.  The  last  named  was  one  of  Marga 
ret  Fuller's  dearest  friends  ;  a  man  of  rare  gifts, 
a  delightful  out-door  companion  and  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  pioneer  life  to  which  he  in 
troduced  his  friends.  Their  mode  of  traveling 
seems  of  itself  to  mark  a  period  a  hundred  years 
ago  instead  of  forty  ;  and  is  graphically  described 
in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Emerson,  written  on  the  return 
journey :  — 

"  CHICAGO,  4th  August,  1843. 

"  We  traveled  in  a  way  that  left  us  perfectly  free  to 
idle  as  much  as  we  pleased,  to  gather  every  flower  and 
13 


194  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

to  traverse  every  wood  we  fancied.  We  were  then  in 
a  strong  vehicle  called  a  lumber  wagon  which  defied 
all  the  jolts  and  wrenches  incident  to  wood  paths,  mud 
holes,  and  the  fording  of  creeks ;  we  were  driven  by  a 
friend,  who  drove  admirably,  who  had  the  true  spirit 
which  animates  daily  life,  who  knew  the  habits  of  all 
the  fowl,  and  fish,  and  growing  things,  and  all  the  war 
like  legends  of  the  country,  and  could  recite  them,  not 
in  a  pedantical,  but  in  a  poetical  manner ;  thus  our  whole 
journey  had  the  gayety  of  adventure,  with  the  repose  of 
intimate  communion.  Now  we  were  in  a  nice  carriage, 
fit  for  nothing  but  roads,  and  which  would  break  even 
on  those,  with  a  regular  driver,  too  careful  of  his  horses 
to  go  off  a  foot-pace,  etc.,  etc. 

"  However,  we  had  much  pleasure  and  saw  many  pretty 
things,  of  which  I  must  tell  you  at  my  leisure.  Our 
time  was  chiefly  passed  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  chain 
of  lakes,  fine  pieces  of  water,  with  the  wide  sloping 
park-like  banks,  so  common  in  this  country."  * 

"  Summer  on  the  Lakes  "  was  prepared  for  the 
press  after  her  return,  with  the  aid  of  a  good  deal 
of  study  at  the  Harvard  College  Library  ;  where 
I  can  well  remember  to  have  seen  Miss  Fuller  sit 
ting,  day  after  day,  under  the  covert  gaze  of  the 
undergraduates  who  had  never  before  looked  upon 
a  woman  reading  within  those  sacred  precincts, 
where  twenty  of  that  sex  are  now  employed  as 
assistants.  She  was  correcting  the  press  during 
much  of  the  spring  of  1844,  when  the  proof-sheets 
came  in  every  evening.  "  I  expect  it  at  night," 
she  writes,  "  as  one  might  some  old  guardian." 
i  MS. 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  195 

During  this  period  she  had  many  sleepless  nights, 
as  appears  by  her  diary,  with  such  constant  head 
aches  that  she  chronicles  not  the  days  when  she 
has  them  but  when  she  is  without  them.  One 
day  at  last  she  writes,  quite  exhausted  :  — 

"  I  begin  to  be  so  tired  of  my  book !  It  will  be 
through  next  Thursday,  but  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  feel  no 
better  then,  because  dissatisfied  with  this  last  part.  I 
ought  to  rewrite  the  Indian  chapter,  were  there  but 
time !  It  will,  I  fear,  seem  desultory  and  ineffectual, 
when  my  materials  are  so  rich ;  owre  rich,  perhaps,  for 
my  mind  does  not  act  on  them  enough  to  fuse  them." 

The  work  itself  is  of  value  as  illustrating  a 
truth  often  noticed,  that  the  ideal  books  of  travel 
last  longer  than  the  merely  statistical ;  since  the 
details,  especially  of  our  newer  communities,  are 
superseded  in  a  year,  while  it  may  be  decades 
before  another  traveler  comes  along  who  can  look 
beneath  them  and  really  picture  the  new  scenes 
for  the  mind's  eye.  A  book  of  facts  about  Il 
linois  in  1843  would  now  be  of  little  value,  but 
the  things  that  Margaret  Fuller  noted  are  still  in 
teresting.  Like  Mrs.  Jameson,  who  wrote  her 
"Winter  Studies  and  Summer  Rambles"  about 
the  same  time,  she  saw  the  receding  Indian  tribes 
from  a  woman's  point  of  view ;  she  sat  in  the  wig 
wams,  played  with  the  children,  pounded  maize 
with  the  squaws.  The  white  settlers,  also,  she 
studied,  and  recorded  their  characteristics  ;  "  the 
Illinois  farmers,  the  large,  first  product  of  the 
soil ; "  and  the  varied  nationalities  represented 


196  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

among  the  foreign  immigrants.  The  following 
extract  from  a  letter  to  Mr.  Emerson  shows  her 
careful  observation  of  these  types,  then  so  new:  — 

"  Here  I  am  interested  in  those  who  have  a  mixture 
of  Indian  blood.  With  one  lady  I  may  become  well 
acquainted,  as  she  is  to  travel  with  us.  Her  melan 
choly  eyes,  and  slow,  graceful  utterance,  and  delicate 
feeling  of  what  she  has  seen,  attract  me.  She  is  mar 
ried  here  and  wears  our  dress,  but  her  family  retain  the 
dress  and  habits  of  their  race.  Through  her  I  hope  to 
make  other  acquaintance  that  may  please  me. 

"Next  week  we  are  going  into  the  country  to  ex 
plore  the  neighborhood  of  Fox  and  Rock  rivers.  We 
are  going,  in  regular  western  style,  to  travel  in  a  wagon, 
and  stay  with  the  farmers.  Then  I  shall  see  the  West 
to  better  advantage  than  I  have  as  yet. 

"  We  are  going  to  stay  with  one  family,  the  mother 
of  which  had  what  they  call  a  '  claim  fight.'  Some 
desperadoes  laid  claim  to  her  property,  which  is  large  ; 
they  were  supposed  to  belong  to  the  band  who  lately 
have  been  broken  up  by  an  exertion  of  lynch  law. 
She  built  shanties  in  the  different  parts ;  she  and  her 
three  daughters  each  took  one  to  defend  it.  They 
showed  such  bravery  that  the  foe  retreated. 

"  Then  there  is  an  Irish  gentleman  who  owns  a  large 
property  there.  He  was  married  to  the  daughter  of  an 
Irish  earl.  His  son,  a  boy  who  inherits  the  (her)  fortune 
he  has  left  in  Europe,  and  since  the  death  of  his  wife 
lives  alone  on  the  Rock  River;  he  has  invited  us  to 
stay  at  his  house,  and  the  scenery  there  is  said  to  be 
most  beautiful. 

"  I  hear,  too,  of  a  Hungarian  count  who  has  a  large 
tract  of  land  in  Wisconsin.  He  has  removed  thither 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  197 

with  all  his  tenantry,  several  hundred  persons  they  say. 
He  comes  to  market  at  Milwaukee ;  they  call  him 
there  the  Count ;  they  do  not  seem  to  know  his  other 
name.  We  are  to  stay  at  Milwaukee,  and  I  shall  in 
quire  all  about  him.  I  should  like  to  know  how  he  has 
modified  his  life  from  the  feudal  lord  to  the  brotherly 
landlord.  I  should  think  he  must  be  a  good  and  resolute 
man  to  carry  out  such  a  scheme  successfully. 

"I  want  to  see  some  emigrant  with  worthy  aims, 
using  all  his  gifts  and  knowledge  to  some  purpose  hon 
orable  to  the  land,  instead  of  lowering  themselves  to  the 
requisitions  of  the  moment,  as  so  many  of  them  do."  i 

The  book  has,  doubtless,  great  defects,  as  is  apt 
to  be  the  case  with  a  first  work  ;  an  author  feels, 
at  such  times,  that  he  may  never  have  another 
opportunity,  and  so  is  tempted  to  load  his  book 
down  with  episodes  in  order  to  lose  nothing.  This 
was  the  case  with  Miss  Fuller.  To  insert  boldly, 
in  the  middle  of  her  book  of  travels,  forty  pages 
about  Kerner's  "  Seeress  of  Prevorst,"  which  she 
had  read  in  Milwaukee,  —  this  showed  the  way 
wardness  of  a  student  and  talker,  rather  than  the 
good  judgment  which  she  ought  to  have  gained  in 
editing  even  the  most  ideal  of  magazines.  These 
things  weighed  the  book  down  too  heavily  for  suc 
cess,  and  her  brother,  in  reediting  her  works,  has 
wisely  printed  them  separately.  Yet  the  value  of 
"  Summer  on  the  Lakes  "  remains  ;  and  I  found 
afterwards,  in  traveling  westward,  that  it  had 
done  more  than  any  other  book  to  prepare  me  for 
1  MS. 


198  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

some  of  the  most  important  aspects  of  that  new 
world.  It  also  excited  interest  in  some  quarters 
through  the  episodes  themselves,  especially  that 
of  "  Mariana,"  which  was  taken  to  be  autobio 
graphical,  as  it  partly  was  ;  although  the  charac 
ter  of  Sylvain,  Mariana's  supposed  lover,  was  al 
most  wholly  imaginary,  as  the  following  letter 
will  show  :  — 

"  As  to  my  book,  there  are  complimentary  notices  in 
the  papers,  and  I  receive  good  letters  about  it.  It  is 
much  read  already,  and  is  termed  «  very  entertaining ! ' 
Little  &  Brown  take  the  risk,  and  allow  a  percentage. 
My  bargain  with  them  is  only  for  one  edition ;  if  this 
succeeds,  I  shall  make  a  better.  They  take  their  own 
measures  about  circulating  the  work,  but  any  effort 
from  my  friends  helps,  of  course.  Short  notices  by 
you,  distributed  at  Philadelphia,  New  York,  and  even 
Cincinnati,  would  attract  attention  and  buyers  !  !  Out 
ward  success  in  this  way  is  very  desirable  to  me,  not 
so  much  on  account  of  present  profit  to  be  derived,  as 
because  it  would  give  me  advantage  in  making  future  bar 
gains,  and  open  the  way  to  ransom  more  time  for  writ 
ing.  The  account  of  the  *  Seeress  '  pleases  many,  and 
it  is  pleasing  to  see  how  elderly  routine  gentlemen,  such 
as  Dr.  Francis  and  Mr.  Farrar,  are  charmed  with  the 
little  story  of  '  Mariana.'  They  admire,  at  poetic  dis 
tance,  that  powerful  nature  that  would  alarm  them  so 
in  real  life.  .  .  '.  Imagine  prose  eyes,  with  glassy  curios 
ity  looking  out  for  Mariana  !  Nobody  dreams  of  its 
being  like  me ;  they  all  thought  Miranda  was,  in  the 
4  Great  Lawsuit.'  People  seem  to  think  that  not  more 
than  one  phase  of  character  can  be  shown  in  one  life. 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  199 

"  Sylvain  is  only  a  suggested  picture ;  you  would 
not  know  the  figure  by  which  it  is  drawn,  if  you  could 
see  it.  Have  no  desire,  I  pray  thee,  ever  to  realize 
these  ideals.  The  name  I  took  from  Fanny  Ellsler's 
partner.  In  the  bridal  dance,  after  movements  of  a 
bird-like  joy,  and  overflowing  sweetness,  when  he  comes 
forward,  she  retires  with  a  proud,  timid  grace,  so  beauti 
ful  ;  it  said,  i  See  what  a  man  I  am  happy  enough  to 
love.'  And  then  came  forward  this  well-taught  dancer, 
springing  and  pirouetting  without  one  tint  of  genius, 
one  ray  of  soul;  it  was  very  painful  and  symbolized 
much,  far  more  than  I  have  expressed  with  Sylvain  and 
Mariana."  1 

"  Summer  on  the  Lakes  "  seems  to  have  yielded 
nothing  to  the  author  but  copies  to  give  away.  It 
is  a  pathetic  compensation  for  an  unsuccessful 
book,  that  the  writer  at  least  has  an  abundant 
supply  of  it ;  and  when  we  consider  that  Thoreau, 
eight  years  later,  was  carrying  up  to  his  garret, 
as  unsold,  seven  hundred  out  of  the  thousand 
copies  of  his  "  Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merri- 
mack,"  we  may  well  feel  that  Miss  Fuller's  little 
book  of  travels  was  successful,  if  it  cost  her  noth 
ing.  At  any  rate  she  distributed  it  with  some 
freedom,  writing  to  Mr.  Emerson,  May  22,  1845, 
"  Thirteen  copies  of  «  Summer  on  the  Lakes '  were 
sent  to  your  address  in  Boston  ;  five  for  you,  four 
for  Caroline  [Sturgis],  four  to  be  sent  to  Sarah 
Clarke,  through  James,  if  you  will  take  the  trou 
ble."  There  must  have  been,  at  some  time,  a 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


200  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

hope  of  a  second  edition,  as  Miss  Sarah  Clarke 
etched  some  charming  illustrations  to  accompany 
it,  a  series  of  which  I  have  seen.  This  re-issue 
never  came,  but  she  sold,  apparently,  seven  hun 
dred  copies ; 1  the  whole  edition  of  a  new  book  at 
that  day  being  usually  five  hundred  or  a  thousand. 

Before  assuming  her  editorial  work  she  found 
time  to  revise  and  amplify  an  essay  which  bad 
been  first  published  in  the  "  Dial,"  and  had  at 
tracted  far  more  general  attention  than  any  of  her 
previous  articles.  It  had  appeared  in  October, 
1843,  under  the  name  of  "  The  Great  Lawsuit,  or 
Man  vs.  Men,  Woman  vs.  Women."  This  phrase 
was  awkward,  but  well  intentioned,  its  aim  being 
to  avert  even  the  suspicion  of  awakening  antago 
nism  between  the  sexes.  The  title  attracted  at 
tention,  and  as  the  edition  of  the  "  Dial,"  in  its 
last  year,  was  even  smaller  than  ever  before,  this 
number  soon  disappeared  from  the  market,  and 
it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  sets  of  the  periodical 
bound  up  without  it,  as  is  the  case  with  my  own. 

She  added  a  great  deal  to  the  essay  before  re 
printing  it,  and  brought  it  to  a  final  completion 
during  seven  weeks  delightfully  spent  amid  the 
scenery  of  the  Hudson,  at  Fish  kill,  N.  Y.,  where 
she  had  the  society  of  her  favorite  out-door  com 
panion,  Miss  Caroline  Sturgis,  lived  in  the  open 
air  with  her  when  the  sun  shone,  and  composed 
only  on  rainy  days.  She  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson 
(November  17,  1844)  :  — 

1  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  755. 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  201 

"I  have  been  happy  now  in  freedom  from  headache 
and  all  other  interruptions,  and  have  spun  out  my  thread 
as  long  and  many-colored  as  was  pleasing.  The  result  I 
have  not  yet  looked  at ;  must  put  some  days  between 
me  and  it  first.  Then  I  shall  revise  and  get  it  into 
printer's  ink  by  Christmas,  I  hope."  ] 

She  wrote  more  fully,  on  the  same  day,  to  the 
Rev.  W.  H.  Charming  :  — 

"Sunday  evening,  \1th  November,  1844. 

"  At  last  I  have  finished  the  pamphlet.  The  last  day 
it  kept  spinning  out  beneath  my  hand.  After  taking  a 
long  walk  early  in  one  of  the  most  noble,  exhilarating 
sort  of  mornings,  I  sat  down  to  write,  and  did  not  put 
the  last  stroke  till  near  nine  in  the  evening.  Then  I 
felt  a  delightful  glow,  as  if  I  had  put  a  good  deal  of  my 
true  life  in  it ;  as  if,  suppose  I  went  away  now,  the  meas 
ure  of  my  footprint  would  be  left  on  the  earth.  That 
was  several  days  ago,  and  I  do  not  know  how  it  will 
look  on  revision,  for  I  must  leave  several  days  more  be 
tween  me  and  it  before  I  undertake  that,  but  think  it 
will  be  much  better  than  if  it  had  been  finished  at  Cam 
bridge,  for  here  has  been  no  headache,  and  leisure  to 
choose  my  hours. 

"  It  will  make  a  pamphlet  rather  larger  than  a  num 
ber  of  the  '  Dial,'  and  would  take  a  fortnight  or  more  to 
print.  Therefore  I  am  anxious  to  get  the  matter  en 
train  before  I  come  to  New  York,  that  I  may  begin  the 
1st  December,  for  I  want  to  have  it  out  by  Christmas. 
Will  you,  then,  see  Mr.  Greeiey  about  it  the  latter  part 
of  this  week  or  the  beginning  of  next  ?  He  is  absent 
now,  but  will  be  back  by  that  time,  and  I  will  write  to 
i  MS. 


202  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

him  about  it.  Perhaps  he  will  like  to  undertake  it  him 
self. 

"  The  estimate  you  sent  me  last  summer  was  made 
expecting  an  edition  of  fifteen  hundred,  but  I  think  a 
thousand  will  be  enough.  The  writing,  though  I  have 
tried  to  make  my  meaning  full  and  clear,  requires,  shall 
I  say,  too  much  culture  in  the  reader  to  be  quickly  or 
extensively  diffused.  I  shall  be  satisfied  if  it  moves  a 
mind  here  and  there,  and  through  that  others  ;  shall  be 
well  satisfied  if  an  edition  of  a  thousand  is  disposed  of 
in  the  course  of  two  or  three  years.  If  the  expense  of 
publication  should  not  exceed  a  hundred  or  even  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars,  I  should  not  be  unwilling  to  un 
dertake  it,  if  thought  best  by  you  and  Mr.  G.  But  I 
suppose  you  would  not  think  that  the  favorable  way  as 
to  securing  a  sale. 

"  If  given  to  a  publisher,  I  wish  to  dispose  of  it  only 
for  one  edition.  I  should  hope  to  be  able  to  make  it 
constantly  better  while  I  live,  and  should  wish  to  retain 
full  command  of  it,  in  case  of  subsequent  editions."  ] 

Of  the  reception  of  this  book,  re-baptized  "  Wo 
man  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  she  wrote  thus  : 

"  The  book  is  out,  and  the  theme  of  all  the  newspa 
pers  and  many  of  the  journals.  Abuse,  public  and  pri 
vate,  is  lavished  upon  its  views,  but  respect  expressed 
for  me  personally.  But  the  most  speaking  fact,  and  the 
one  which  satisfied  me,  is  that  the  whole  edition  was  sold 
off  in  a  week  to  the  booksellers,  and  $85  handed  to  me 
as  my  share.  Not  that  my  object  was  in  any  wise 
money,  but  I  consider  this  the  signet  of  success.  If  one 
can  be  heard,  that  is  enough ;  I  shall  send  you  two 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED.  203 

copies,  one  for  yourself  and  one  to  give  away,  if  you 
like.  If  you  noticed  it  in  a  New  Orleans  paper,  you 
might  create  a  demand  for  it  there ;  the  next  edition 
will  be  out  in  May."  ] 

On  December  10,  1845,  we  find  her  recording 
in  her  journal  the  pleasure  —  rarer  in  those  days 
than  now  —  of  receiving  an  English  reprint,  pub 
lished  in  Clarke's  Cabinet  Library.2  She  was 
then  visiting  Mrs.  Child  ;  and  she  records,  also, 
her  hope  of  a  second  American  edition,  but  I  am 
not  aware  that  it  ever  arrived  until  the  book  was 
reprinted,  after  her  death,  by  her  brother  Arthur. 

She  also  published,  during  her  connection  with 
the  "  Tribune,"  two  thin  volumes  of  her  miscella 
neous  writings,  called  "  Papers  on  Literature  and 
Art."  This  work  appeared  in  1846,  just  before 
her  departure  for  Europe,  and  was,  in  the  judg 
ment  of  her  brother  Arthur,  the  most  popular  of 
all  her  books.  He  has  reprinted  it,  without  alter 
ation,  in  that  volume  of  her  writings  called  "Art, 
Literature,  and  the  Drama,"  including  the  preface, 
which  was  thought  to  savor  of  vanity  and  became 
the  theme  of  Lowell's  satire ;  although  the  sen 
tence  he  apparently  had  in  view,  "  I  feel  with  sat 
isfaction  that  I  have  done  a  good  deal  to  extend 
the  influence  of  Germany  and  Italy  among  my 
compatriots,"  was  strictly  true. 

It  was  in  this  volume  that  she  published  — be 
ing  the  only  part  of  it  that  had  not  previously 
appeared  in  print  —  an  essay  on  "  American  Liter- 
1  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  769.  2  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  793. 


204  MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOL  I. 

ature,"  in  which  she  expressed,  more  fully  than 
before,  the  criticisms  on  Longfellow  and  others 
which  were  then  not  uncommon  among  the  Tran- 
scendentalists,  and  which,  as  uttered  by  her, 
brought  on  her  head  some  wrath.  It  did  not 
diminish  this  antagonism  that  the  offending  essay 
attracted  especial  attention  in  England,  and  was 
translated  and  published  in  a  Paris  review;  but 
this  aspect  of  her  career  must  be  considered  in  a 
later  chapter. 


XIII. 

BUSINESS  LITE  IN  NEW  YORK. 
(1844-1846.) 

THE  transfer  of  Margaret  Fuller,  at  the  begin 
ning  of  December,  1844,  to  what  she  called  her 
"  business  life  "  in  New  York,  made  a  distinct 
epoch  in  her  career.  After  this  her  mental  matu 
rity  began  ;  at  any  rate,  her  Wander j afore,  in  the 
German  sense,  as  distinct  from  mere  apprentice 
ship.  She  had  come  to  be  the  housemate  and  lit 
erary  coadjutor  of  the  man  who,  among  all  Amer 
icans,  then  stood  closest  to  the  popular  heart. 
The  name  of  his  journal  was  no  misnomer  ;  he 
was  a  Tribune  of  the  People  in  the  old  Roman 
sense.  His  newspaper  office  was  just  at  that  time 
the  working  centre  of  much  of  the  practical  rad 
icalism  in  the  country ;  but  he  was  also  a  person 
of  ideal  aims  and  tastes,  and  was  perhaps  the  first 
conspicuous  man  in  America,  out  of  Boston,  who 
publicly  recognized  in  Emerson  the  greatest  of 
our  poets.  He  brought  Margaret  Fuller  to  New 
York,  not  only  that  she  might  put  the  literary 
criticism  of  the  "  Tribune "  on  a  higher  plane 
than  any  American  newspaper  occupied,  but  that 
she  might  discuss  in  a  similar  spirit  all  philan- 


206  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

thropic  questions.  To  investigate  these  subjects 
on  the  practical  side  she  had  two  coadjutors  be 
sides  Horace  Greeley  ;  —  her  early  fellow-student, 
Lydia  Maria  Child,  then  a  resident  of  New  York, 
and  also  a  later  and  yet  closer  friend,  William 
Henry  Channing.  This  remarkable  man,  whose 
gifts  and  services  have  in  some  degree  passed  from 
the  knowledge  of  the  younger  generation  of  Amer 
icans,  through  his  long  residence  in  England,  was 
then  the  most  ardent  of  social  reformers,  the  lof 
tiest  among  idealists,  and  —  after  Wendell  Phil 
lips  —  the  most  eloquent  of  orators  upon  the  anti- 
slavery  platform.  But  he  was  also  the  most 
devoted  of  city  missionaries,  in  New  York  and 
elsewhere  ;  and,  under  his  guidance,  Margaret 
Fuller  could  penetrate  the  very  recesses  of  the 
Five  Points,  then  the  last  refuge  of  poverty  and 
crime.  He  had  been  one  of  her  earliest  co-labor 
ers  on  the  "  Dial ;  "  he  was  the  intimate  friend 
of  Horace  Greeley;  and  his  companionship  thus 
bridged  for  her  the  interval  between  the  old  life 
and  the  new.  He  moreover  preached  on  Sunday 
to  a  small  congregation  of  cultivated  reformers  ; 
and  here  she  found  the  needed  outlet  for  the  re 
ligious  element  in  her  nature,  always  profound, 
sometimes  mystical,  but  now  taking  a  most  health 
ful  and  active  shape.  It  is  a  sign  of  her  changed 
life  when  she  keeps  her  New  Year's  vigils,  not  in 
poetic  reveries,  as  at  Boston  and  Brook  Farm,  but 
in  writing  such  a  note  as  the  following  to  Mr. 
Channing :  — 


BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW   YORK.  207 

"New  Year's  Eve  [1845]. 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  you,  dear  William,  where  we  shall 
begin  in  our  round  of  visits  to  the  public  institutions.  I 
want  to  make  a  beginning,  as,  probably,  one  a  day  and 
once  a  week  will  be  enough  for  my  time  and  strength. 

"  Now  is  the  time  for  me  to  see  and  write  about  these 
things,  as  my  European  stock  will  not  be  here  till 
spring. 

"  Should  you  like  to  begin  with  Black  well's  Island, 
Monday  or  Tuesday  of  next  week  ?  " l 

She  was  at  this  time  living  in  full  sight  of  that 
celebrated  penitentiary  of  which  she  writes.  Afc 
the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Greeley,  who  had  known 
Margaret  Fuller  in  Boston,  she  was  not  only  in 
vited  to  become  a  writer  in  the  "  Tribune  "  but  a 
member  of  the  editor's  family  ;  Mr.  Greeley  ex 
pressly  stating  that  he  regarded  her  rather  as  his 
wife's  friend  than  his  own.2  He  had  lately  taken 
up  his  residence  in  a  large  old  wooden  house, 
built  as  a  country  residence  by  a  New  York 
banker,  on  what  New  Yorkers  call  the  East  River, 
at  Turtle  Bay,  nearly  opposite  the  southernmost 
point  of  Blackwell's  Island.  The  house  had 
ample  shrubbery  and  gardens,  with  abundant 
shade  trees  and  fruit  trees  ;  and  though  the  whole 
region  is  long  since  laid  out  in  streets  and  covered 
with  buildings,  it  was  then  accessible,  as  Mr. 
Greeley  tells  us,  only  by  a  long  winding  private 
lane,  wholly  dark  at  night  and  meeting  the  old 
"  Boston  Road  "  at  Forty-Ninth  Street.  The  only 
1  MS.  (W.  H.  C.)  2  Parton's  Greeley,  p.  25a 


208  MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOLI. 

regular  communication  with  the  thickly-settled 
parts  of  that  city  —  two  miles  away  —  was  by  an 
hourly  stage  on  the  Third  Avenue.1  In  this  sub 
urban  retirement  Margaret  Fuller  must  have  been 
almost  as  much  cut  off  from  the  evening  life 
of  the  metropolis  as  if  she  had  remained  at 
Jamaica  Plain;  and  this  fact  doubtless  abbrevi 
ated  her  stay  there;  but  meanwhile  she  reveled 
in  its  picturesqueness,  —  the  wide  hall,  the  piazza, 
the  garden,  the  trees,  the  rocks,  the  gliding  sails. 
She  thus  describes  her  position  to  her  brother 
Eugene,  in  New  Orleans  :  — 

..."  For  me,  I  have  never  been  so  well  situated. 
As  to  a  home,  the  place  where  we  live  is  old  and  dilapi 
dated,  but  in  a  situation  of  great  natural  loveliness. 
When  there  I  am  perfectly  secluded,  yet  every  one  I 
wish  to  see  comes  to  see  me  and  I  can  get  to  the  centre 
of  the  city  in  half  an  hour.  The  house  is  kept  in  a 
Castle  Rackrent  style,  but  there  is  all  affection  for  me 
and  desire  to  make  me  at  home,  and  I  do  feel  so,  which 
could  scarcely  have  been  expected  from  such  an  arrange 
ment.  My  room  is  delightful ;  how  I  wish  you  could 
sit  at  its  window  with  me  and  see  the  sails  glide  by  ! 
As  to  the  public  part,  that  is  entirely  satisfactory.  I  do 
just  as  I  please,  and  as  much  or  little  as  I  please,  and 
the  editors  express  themselves  perfectly  satisfied ;  and 
others  say  that  my  pieces  tell  to  a  degree  I  could  not 
expect.  I  think,  too,  I  shall  do  better  and  better.  I 
am  truly  interested  in  this  great  field  which  opens  be 
fore  me,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  be  sure  of  a  chance  at  half 
a  hundred  thousand  readers. 

1  Greeley's  Recollections  of  a  Busy  Life,  p.  177. 


LIFE  IN  NEW   YORK.  209 

"  Mr.  Greeley  I  like,  nay  more,  love.  He  is,  in  his 
habits,  a  —  plebeian  ;  in  his  heart,  a  noble  man.  His 
abilities,  in  his  own  way,  are  great.  He  believes  in 
mine  to  a  surprising  extent.  We  are  true  friends."  1 

It  was  one  result  of  the  absorbing  cares  of  her 
New  York  life  that  they  left  her,  from  the  begin 
ning,  no  space  for  the  letters  and  diaries  which 
before  were  so  abundantly  produced.  Instead  of 
soliloquizing  or  talking  to  her  friends,  she  had  to 
deal  with  the  larger  public  of  the  "  Tribune." 
She  indeed  almost  ceased  letter  -  writing,  as  we 
know  from  this  brief  note  to  the  younger  brother 
to  whom  she  had  heretofore  written  so  freely :  — 

"  I  am  very  busy,  and  I  receive,  now  I  am  separated 
from  all  my  friends,  letters  in  great  number,  which  I 
do  not  attempt  to  answer,  except  in  urgent  cases.  Nor 
do  they  expect  it,  but  write  to  me  again  and  again. 
They  know  that  if  I  had  the  time  and  strength,  which  I 
have  not,  I  must  not  fritter  away  my  attention  on  in 
cessant  letter-writing.  I  must  bend  it  on  what  is  before 
me,  if  I  wish  to  learn  or  to  do."  2 

We  are  therefore  left  to  know  her,  at  this 
period,  mainly  through  the  testimony  of  Horace 
Greeley,  her  chief  and  her  first  host.  He  never 
could  overcome  a  slight  feeling  of  professional  su 
periority  to  the  woman  who  could  not  write  more 
than  a  column  of  matter  to  his  ten  ;  and  who  was 
sometimes  incapacitated  from  work  by  headaches, 
whereas  he  plodded  on,  ill  or  well,  doing  always 
his  daily  share.  But  to  her  public  spirit,  her  love 

i  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  765-767.  "  Fuller  MSS.  ii.  749. 

14 


210  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

of  children,  her  generous  attitude  to  all  comers,  he 
bears  explicit  testimony  in  his  "  Recollections." 
He  describes  the  involuntary  testimony  paid  to 
her  by  the  women  who  visited  the  Greeley  house ; 
the  naturalness  with  which  she  took  the  lead 
among  them  without  exciting  jealousy,  and  the 
"  almost  oriental  adoration "  which  she  often 
inspired  among  them.  He  expresses  constant 
amazement  at  the  way  in  which  those  who  had 
known  her  but  a  day  insisted  on  telling  her  their 
secrets  and  asking  counsel.  "  I  judge,"  he  says, 
"  that  she  was  the  repository  of  more  confidences 
than  any  contemporary,  and  I  am  sure  no  one  had 
ever  reason  to  regret  the  imprudent  precipitancy 
of  these  trusts."  Chambermaids  and  seamstresses 
came  to  her  and  unburdened  their  souls  ;  and  all 
children  loved  her.  "  As  the  elephant's  trunk," 
Mr.  Greeley  says,  "  serves  either  to  rend  a  limb 
from  the  oak  or  pick  up  a  pin,  so  her  wonderful 
range  of  capacities,  of  experiences,  of  sympathies, 
seemed  adapted  to  every  condition  and  phase  of 
humanity."  He  speaks  especially  of  her  "  mar 
velous  powers  of  personation  and  mimicry ;  " 
thinks  she  might,  had  she  chosen,  have  been  the 
first  actress  of  the  century,  but  declares  that  she 
seemed  quite  absorbed,  while  living,  in  the  simple 
effort  to  leave  some  small  corner  of  the  world 
better  than  she  found  it.1 

She  did  not,  however,  dwell  permanently  at  the 
house  of  Horace  Greeley,  but  afterwards  at  sev- 
1  Greeley 's  Recollections,  p.  181. 


BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK.  211 

eral  different  abodes,  nearer  the  "  Tribune  "  office. 
She  resided,  for  a  month  or  two,  in  the  family  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cranch ;  having,  during  a  part  of 
this  time,  the  companionship  of  a  favorite  friend, 
Miss  Caroline  Sturgis,  with  whom  she  enjoyed  to 
the  utmost  the  social  and  artistic  delights  of  New 
York.  We  find  her  writing  in  the  "  Tribune  " 
about  picture-galleries,  the  theatre,  the  Philhar 
monic  concerts,  the  German  opera,  Ole  Bull's 
performances  on  the  violin,  and  Mr.  Hudson's  lec 
ture  on  Shakespeare.  Later  she  had  lodgings  for 
a  longtime  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  McDowell,  where 
she  had  opportunity  to  give  receptions  to  her  lit 
erary  friends  and  to  preside  as  a  gracious  hostess 
with  a  white  japonica  in  her  hair.  She  did  most 
of  her  writing  and  proof-reading  at  feme,  not 
keeping  regular  office-hours :  and  she  evidently 
worked  very  hard  in  her  own  way,  which  was  not 
always  Mr.  Greeley's  method.  Her  researches 
into  poverty  and  crime  took  many  of  her  leisure 
hours ;  and  she  sometimes,  in  the  prosecution  of 
these  researches,  stayed  a  day  or  two  with  Mrs. 
Child,  who,  like  herself,  was  equally  ready  to  be 
absorbed  in  the  music  of  the  spheres  and  in  the 
sorrows  of  the  streets.  Her  practical  aims  were 
at  this  time  well  described  in  a  letter  written  to 
her  old  friend  Miss  Mary  Rotch  of  New  Bedford, 
Massachusetts,  one  of  those  saints  who  are  "  Aunt 
Mary  "  to  a  wide  circle :  — 


212  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

"NEW  YORK,  January  15,  1845. 

"  ALWAYS  DEAR  AUNT  MARY,  —  ...  This  stopped 
me,  just  as  I  had  begun  to  visit  the  institutions  here,  of 
a  remedial  and  benevolent  kind.  So  soon  as  I  am  quite 
well,  I  shall  resume  the  survey.  Mr.  Greeley  is  desir 
ous  I  should  make  it,  and  make  what  use  of  it  I  think 
best,  in  the  paper.  I  go  with  William  C.  [Channing]. 
It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  us  to  cooperate  in  these  ways. 
I  do  not  expect  to  do  much,  practically,  for  the  suffer 
ing,  but  having  such  an  organ  of  expression  [the  '  New 
York  Tribune  '],  any  suggestions  that  are  well  grounded 
may  be  of  use.  I  have  always  felt  great  interest  for 
those  women  who  are  trampled  in  the  mud  to  gratify 
the  brute  appetites  of  men,  and  wished  I  might  be 
brought  naturally  into  contact  with  them.  Now  I  am 
so,  I  think  I  shall  have  much  that  is  interesting  to  tell 
you  when  we  meet. 

"I  go  on  very  moderately,  for  my  strength  is  not 
great,  and  I  am  now  connected  with  a  person  who  is 
anxious  I  should  not  overtask  it ;  yet  I  shall  do  more 
for  the  paper  by  and  by.  At  present,  beside  the  time 
I  spend  in  looking  round  and  examining  my  new  field, 
I  am  publishing  a  volume  of  which  you  will  receive  a 
copy,  called  '  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century ; '  a 
part  of  my  available  time  is  spent  in  attending  to  it  as 
it  goes  through  the  press  ;  for  really  the  work  seems 
but  half  done  when  your  book  is  written.  I  like  being 
here ;  the  streams  of  life  flow  free,  and  I  learn  much 
I  feel  so  far  satisfied  as  to  have  laid  my  plans  to  stay  a 
year  and  a  half,  if  not  longer,  and  to  have  told  Mr.  G. 
that  I  probably  shall.  That  is  long  enough  for  a  mor 
tal  to  look  forward  and  not  too  long,  as  I  must  look 
forward  in  order  to  get  what  I  want  from  Europe. 


BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK.  213 

"  Mr.  Greeley  is  a  man  of  genuine  excellence,  honor 
able,  benevolent,  of  an  uncorrupted  disposition,  and,  in 
his  way,  of  even  great  abilities."  1 

The  breadth  of  her  work  in  practical  directions 
—  the  proof  that  she  was  now  obtaining  what  she 
had  always  sought,  a  working-place  for  something 
beyond  self-culture  —  is  to  be  seen  in  the  very  ti 
tles  of  her  papers  in  the  "  Tribune."  She  wrote, 
Mr.  Parton  tells  us,  about  three  articles  a  week, 
these  discussing  such  themes  as  u  The  Rich  Man," 
"  The  Poor  Man,"  "  Woman  in  Poverty,"  "  What 
fits  a  Man  to  be  a  Voter  ?  "  "  The  Condition  of 
the  Blind,"  "  Prison  Discipline,"  "  Appeal  for  an 
Asylum  for  discharged  Female  Convicts,"  "  Po 
liteness  to  the  Poor,"  "  Capital  Punishment." 
Then  there  are  Meditations  for  special  days,  as 
Thanksgiving,  Christmas,  New  Year's,  St.  Valen 
tine's  Day,  the  Fourth  of  July,  the  first  of  Au 
gust  ;  these  having  always  some  practical  bearing. 
Thus  her  St.  Valentine's  Eve  was  passed  at  the 
Bloomingdale  Asylum  for  the  Insane,  and  she  de 
scribes  it.  Mr.  Greeley  thus  testifies  in  regard  to 
this  practical  tendency  of  her  work  :  — 

"  For  every  effort  to  limit  vice,  ignorance,  and  mis 
ery  she  had  a  ready,  eager  ear,  and  a  willing  hand ;  so 
that  her  charities  —  large  in  proportion  to  her  slender 
means  —  were  signally  enhanced  by  the  fitness  and 
fullness  of  her  wise  and  generous  counsel,  the  readiness 
and  emphasis  with  which  she,  publicly  and  privately, 
commended  to  those  richer  than  herself  any  object  de- 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  43. 


214  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

serving  their  alms.  She  had  once  attended,  with  other 
noble  women,  a  gathering  of  outcasts  of  their  sex ; 
and,  being  asked  how  they  appeared  to  her,  replied, 
'As  women  like  myself,  save  that  they  are  victims  of 
wrong  and  misfortune.'  No  project  of  moral  or  social 
reform  ever  failed  to  command  her  generous,  cheer 
ing  benediction,  even  when  she  could  not  share  the 
sanguine  hopes  of  its  authors  :  she  trusted  that  these 
might  somehow  benefit  the  objects  of  their  self-sacrifice, 
and  felt  confident  that  they  must,  at  all  events,  be 
blessed  in  their  own  moral  natures.  I  doubt  that  our 
various  benevolent  and  reformatory  associations  had 
ever  before,  or  have  ever  since  received  such  wise,  dis 
criminating  commendation  to  the  favor  of  the  rich,  as 
they  did  from  her  pen  during  her  connection  with  the 
1  Tribune.' "  1 

Her  sympathy  was  strong  for  these  women,  be 
trayed  into  a  life  of  crime  by  the  sins  of  others ; 
and  Mr.  Greeley  expresses  confidently  his  belief 
that  "If  she  had  been  born  to  large  fortune,  a 
house  of  refuge  for  all  female  outcasts  desiring  to 
return  to  the  ways  of  virtue  would  have  been  one 
of  her  most  cherished  and  first  realized  concep 
tions."  2  And  to  show  the  strength  and  discrim 
ination  with  which  she  handled  another  difficult 
class  of  questions,  I  will  quote  a  passage  that  par 
ticularly  pleased  Mr.  Greeley,  in  regard  to  the 
vexed  question  of  Irish  immigration  :  — 

"  When  we  consider  all  the  fire  which  glows  so  untama- 

1  Greeley 's  Recollections,  pp.  179,  180. 

2  Parton's  Greeley,  p.  260. 


BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK.  215 

bly  in  Irish  veins,  the  character  of  her  people,  —  consid 
ering  the  circumstances,  almost  miraculous  in  its  good 
ness,  —  we  cannot  forbear,  notwithstanding  all  the  tem 
porary  ills  they  aid  in  here,  to  give  them  all  a  welcome 
to  our  shores.    Those  ills  we  need  not  enumerate  ;  they 
are  known  to  all,  and  we  rank  among  them  what  others 
would  not,  that  by  their  ready  service  to  do  all  the  hard 
work  they  make  it  easier  for  the  rest  of  the  population, 
to  grow  effeminate  and  help  the  country  to  grow  too 
fast.     But  that  is  her  destiny,  to  grow  too  fast ;  it  is 
useless  talking  against  it.      Their  extreme    ignorance, 
their  blind  devotion  to  a  priesthood,  their  pliancy  in  the 
hands  of  demagogues,  threaten  continuance  of  these  ills  ; 
yet,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  regard  them  as  a  most 
valuable  element  in  the  new  race.      They  are  looked 
upon  with  contempt  for  their  want  of  aptitude  at  learn 
ing  new  things,  their  ready  and  ingenious  lying,  their 
eye-service.     These  are  the  faults  of  an  oppressed  race 
which    must   require    the   aid  of    better  circumstances 
through  two  or  three  generations  to  eradicate.      Their 
virtues  are  their  own,  —  they  are  many,  genuine,  and 
deeply  rooted.     Can  an  impartial  observer  fail  to  ad 
mire  their  truth  to  domestic  ties,  their  power  of  gener 
ous  bounty  and  more  generous  gratitude,  their  indefati 
gable  good-humor  (for  ages  of  wrong  which  have  driven 
them  to  so  many  acts  of  desperation  could  never  sour 
their  blood  at  its  source),  their  ready  wit,  their  elasticity 
of  nature  ?     They  are  at  bottom  one  of  the  best  nations 
in  the  world. —  Would  they  were  welcomed  here,  not 
to  work,  merely,  but  to  intelligent  sympathy  and  efforts, 
both  patient  and  ardent,  for  the  education  of  their  chil 
dren.     No  sympathy  could  be  better  deserved,  no  ef 
forts  wiselier  timed." 


216  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

But  while  her  articles  on  public  questions, 
signed  always  with  an  asterisk  (*),  were  those 
most  read  in  New  York,  it  was  her  literary  criti 
cism  that  traveled  farthest  and  brought  forth 
most  praise  or  blame.  Her  first  paper  in  the 
"  Tribune  "  was  a  review  of  Emerson's  "  Essays," 
which  appeared  December  7,  1844.1  Here  she 
was,  in  a  manner,  on  her  own  ground ;  but  she 
soon  had  to  plunge,  so  far  as  literature  was  con 
cerned,  into  a  sea  of  troubles.  She  entered  on  her 
work  at  a  time  when  the  whole  standard  of  liter 
ary  criticism,  not  only  in  America  but  in  England, 
needed  mending.  The  tomahawk  theory  still 
prevailed  among  editors  and  even  among  authors  ; 
men  revenged  literary  slights  by  personal  abuse  ; 
the  desire  to  "  make  an  example  "  of  a  person  or 
to  "get  even  with  him"  had  not  then  vanished 
from  literature,  as  it  has  not  yet  disappeared  from 
politics.  Poe's  miscellaneous  writings  were  full 
of  this  sort  of  thing ;  Lowell's  "  Fable  for  Critics  " 
was  not  at  all  free  from  it.  At  such  a  time  it 
was  no  easy  thing  for  a  woman  to  pass  from  a 
comparatively  secluded  life  in  Boston  and  her  cir 
cle  of  personal  friends  in  the  "  Dial,"  to  what  then 
seemed  the  metropolitan  life  of  New  York  and 
the  hand-to-mouth  existence  of  a  daily  newspaper. 

To  the  bad  tendencies  of  the  time  her  work 
furnished  an  excellent  antidote.  From  some  ex 
periences  of  the  daily  journal  she  recoiled  at  first 
and  perhaps  always;  the  break-neck  speed,  the 
1  Parton's  Greeley,-p.  255. 


BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK.  217 

necessity  of  reviewing  every  book  while  fresh,  no 
matter  though  the  calm  reflection  of  many  days 
may  be  needed  to  do  it  justice.  Horace  Greeley, 
a  born  gladiator,  whose  words  came  swift  and 
hard  as  blows,  records  his  own  impatience  at  her 
too  cautious  habits.  If  an  author's  case  was  press 
ing,  he  thought  she  should  sit  up  an  hour  later 
that  night  and  give  him  the  finishing  stroke ;  and 
the  papers  that  brought  her  most  criticism  were 
those  in  which  she  yielded  to  these  importunities, 
against  her  own  better  judgment. 

The  editorial  "  we  "  brings  its  temptations  alike 
to  women  and  men  ;  and  sometimes  her  very  ut 
terances  of  deprecation  were  ill-expressed  and 
taken  for  new  assertion  of  herself.  When  she 
denied  to  Lowell  the  genuine  poetic  gift  and  said 
that  she  must  assert  this  "  although  to  the  grief 
of  many  friends  and  the  disgust  of  more,"  it  was 
unquestionably  meant  as  a  bit  of  sincere  humility, 
and  she  must  have  been  amazed  to  find  it  taken 
as  a  phrase  of  conceit.  But  she  kept  higher  laws 
than  she  broke.  In  that  epoch  of  strife  which  I 
so  well  remember,  that  storm-and-stress  period, 
that  Sturm-und-Drangzeit,  she  held  the  critical 
sway  of  the  most  powerful  American  journal  with 
unimpaired  dignity  and  courage.  By  comparing 
a  single  page  of  her  collected  works  with  any 
page,  taken  almost  at  random,  of  Edgar  Poe's,  we 
see  the  difference  more  clearly  than  it  can  be  ex 
pressed  in  words.  On  this  we  have  the  distinct 
testimony  of  the  most  mercilessly  honest  of  all 
critics,  Horace  Greeley:  — 


218  MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOL  I. 

"  But,  one  characteristic  of  her  writings  I  feel  bound 
to  commend,  —  their  absolute  truthfulness.  She  never 
asked  how  this  would  sound,  nor  whether  that  would  do, 
nor  what  would  be  the  effect  of  saying  anything ;  but 
simply,  'Is  it  the  truth  ?  Is  it  such  as  the  public  should 
know  ? '  And  if  her  judgment  answered,  '  Yes,'  she  ut 
tered  it ;  no  matter  what  turmoil  it  might  excite,  nor  what 
odium  it  might  draw  down  on  her  own  head.  Perfect 
conscientiousness  was  an  unfailing  characteristic  of  her 
literary  efforts.  Even  the  severest  of  her  critiques,  — 
that  on  Longfellow's  Poems,  —  for  which  an  impulse  in 
personal  pique  has  been  alleged,  I  happen  with  cer 
tainty  to  know  had  no  such  origin.  When  I  first 
handed  her  the  book  to  review,  she  excused  herself,  as 
signing  the  wide  divergence  of  her  views  of  poetry  from 
those  of  the  author  and  his  school,  as  her  reason.  She 
thus  induced  me  to  attempt  the  task  of  reviewing  it 
myself.  But  day  by  day  sped  by,  and  I  could  find  no 
hour  that  was  not  absolutely  required  for  the  perform 
ance  of  some  duty  that  would  not  be  put  off,  nor  turned 
over  to  another.  At  length  I  carried  the  book  back  to 
her  in  utter  despair  of  ever  finding  an  hour  in  which 
even  to  look  through  it ;  and,  at  my  renewed  and  ear 
nest  request,  she  reluctantly  undertook  its  discussion. 
The  statement  of  these  facts  is  but  an  act  of  justice  to 
her  memory."  1 

Meanwhile,  she  was  always  saving  up  money 
for  her  long-desired  trip  to  Europe ;  though  tins 
fund  was  again  and  again  depleted  by  the  needs  of 
her  family  and  friends.  Several  hundred  dollars 
went  at  once,  for  instance,  to  publish  for  a  Danish 

1  Parton's  Greeley,  p.  259- 


BUSINESS  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK.  219 

exile,  Harro  Hairing,  a  novel  called  "  Dolores," 
which  the  publisher  had  been  frightened  out  of 
issuing  at  the  last  moment,  on  theological  grounds, 
and  which  never  yielded  a  dollar  to  anybody.  At 
last,  receiving  an  invitation  from  her  friends, 
Marcus  and  Rebecca  Spring,  to  accompany  them 
and  their  young  son  on  their  voyage,  she  left  New 
York  after  twenty  months  of  residence  ;  "  modi 
fying  but  not  terminating  her  connection  with 
the  'Tribune,'"  —  in  Mr.  Greeley's  phrase,  — and 
sailed  for  England  on  the  first  of  August,  1846. 


XIV. 

EUROPEAN   TKAVEL. 
(1346-1847.) 

THIS  was  Margaret  Fuller's  last  note  to  Mr. 
Emerson  before  her  departure  for  Europe :  — 

"NEW  YORK,  1 5th  July,  1846. 

"  I  leave  Boston  in  the  Cambria,  1st  August.  Shall 
be  at  home  at  my  mother's  in  Cambridgeport  the  morn 
ing  of  the  30th  July.  Can  see  you  either  that  day  or 
the  next  there,  as  I  shall  not  go  out.  Please  write  to 
care  of  Richard  [Fuller],  6  State  Street,  Boston,  which 
day  you  will  come. 

"  I  should  like  to  take  the  letter  to  Carlyle,  and  wish 
you  would  name  the  Springs  in  it.  Mr.  S.  has  been 
one  of  those  much  helped  by  Mr.  C.  I  should  like  to 
see  Tennyson,  but  doubt  whether  Mr.  C.  would  take 
any  trouble  about  it.  I  take  a  letter  to  Miss  Barrett. 
I  am  likely  to  see  Browning  through  her.  It  would  do 
no  harm  to  mention  it,  though.  I  have  done  much  to 
make  him  known  here."  * 

Sailing  on  the  appointed    day,  she  landed  at 

Liverpool,  August  12th.     A  note-book  lies  before 

me,  kept  by  her   during  the  first  weeks  of  her 

European  life.     It  contains  hints  that  were  often 

IMS. 


EUROPEAN  TRAVEL.  221 

amplified  for  her  "  Tribune  "  letters  ;  but  for  my 
self,  I  always  find  the  first  note-book  more  inter 
esting.  "  Memory,"  says  the  poet  Gray,  "  is  ten 
times  worse  than  a  lead  pencil,"  and  it  is  really 
of  more  value  to  know  what  struck  a  traveler 
at  the  outset  than  what  was  afterwards  added 
to  his  knowledge.  Nothing  tests  one's  habits  of 
mind  and  independence  of  character  like  the  first 
glimpse  of  a  foreign  country ;  and  it  must  be  re 
membered  that  Europe  was  far  more  foreign  to 
Americans  forty  years  ago  than  to-day.  Omitting 
a  few  preliminary  passages,  the  note-book  goes  on 
as  follows,  being  here  printed  precisely  as  it  is 
written  ;  the  exact  dates  being  rarely  given  in 
it,  but  the  time  being  the  latter  part  of  August, 
1846,  and  thenceforward :  — 

"  Went  to  the  Paradise-street  chapel  to  hear  James 
Martineau.  His  over-intellectual  appearance.  His  con 
servative  tendencies,  liberality  only  in  spots.  Mr.  Ire 
land,  a  most  liberal  man,  a  devout  reader  of  the  '  Dial.' 
His  early  record  of  Waldo  [Emerson].  Delight  at  see 
ing  these  impressions  confirmed  by  the  stand  he  has 
taken  since.  Mr.  Ireland,  declining  all  stimulants  on 
the  most  ultra  ground,  takes  four  or  five  strong  cups  of 
tea,  which  he  does  not  need.  —  Monday  morning.  Me 
chanics'  Institute,  —  method  of  instruction  —  seventeen 
hundred  pupils.  Provision  for  the  girls.  Fine  building 
bought  for  them,  at  seven  thousand  pounds.  Woman 
nominally,  not  really,  at  the  head.  Royal  Institute. 
Series  of  works  of  early  Italian  art  collected  by  Ros- 
coe.  Statue  of  Roscoe  by  Chantrey. 

"  Afternoon.     Sweet  place  on  the  banks  of  the 


222  MARGARET  FULLER  OS  SOLI. 

sey,  called  '  the  Dingle.'  Feeling  of  the  man  of  let 
ters  toward  the  man  of  money.  Park  laid  out  by  Mr. 
Gates  for  use  of  the  public,  a  very  good  means  of  doing 
good.  Marriage  of  Mr.  J.  at  Dr.  H.'s.  Peculiar  man 
agement  of  Fleas  !  Mrs.  H.  the  translator  of  *  Spiri- 
dion.'  Fine  heads  of  Godwin,  Herwegh,  Hoffmann  von 
Fallersleben,  Rachel.  Splendid  full  length  of  Goethe, 
which  I  want  for  myself.  Mem.  to  get  a  fine  head  of 
Rachel  for  Caroline.  Herwegh,  too,  perhaps.  Head 
of  Catharina  of  Russia.  Colossal  and  Ideal  head  of 
Beethoven. 

"  Early  letters  of  Carlyle,  written  in  the  style  of  the 
*  Life  of  Schiller,'  occasionally  swelling  into  that  of 
Dr.  Johnson.  Very  low  views  of  life,  comfortable  and 
prudential  advice  as  to  marriage,  envy  of  riches,  thirst 
for  fame  avowed  as  a  leading  motive. 

"  Tuesday.  Pay  up  bill.  Great  expensiveness  of 
the  Adelphi.  Route  from  Liverpool  to  Lancaster. 
From  the  latter  canal  boat  to  Kendal.  Beautiful  pic 
ture  presented  by  the  young  Bengalese,  our  fellow- 
traveler.  Cordial  talk  of  English  gentleman.  Silly 
German,  with  his  horrid  chat  and  smirk.  His  foolish 
way  of  addressing  an  intelligent  child.  Kendal,  the 
Castle.  To  Ambleside.  Drive  presents  a  landscape  for 
once,  lit  up  by  sunshine  as  exquisite  as  I  had  hoped 
even.  Man  and  Nature  go  hand  in  hand  here  in  Eng 
land.  Blue  bell,  Campanula. 

"  The  fuchsia  grows  here  to  great  size  in  the  open 
air.  Directions  for  its  culture,  note  in  letter  to  mother. 
Make  a  bed  of  bog-earth  and  sand,  plant  the  fuchsias, 
and  give  them  constantly  a  great  deal  of  water  —  this 
;'*  all  that  is  needful. 

•*  Ambleside.     Miss  Martineau's  house.     The  look  of 


EUROPEAN  TRAVEL.  223 

health  in  her  face,  but  a  harried,  excited,  over-stimu 
lated  state  of  mind.  Home  at  the  confectioner's,  a  sweet 
little  English  home,  with  modest,  gentle,  English  Jane 
to  wait.  Her  courtesy  about  Eddie  [Edward  Spring]. 
Many  such  little  things  show  us  how  natural  is  the  dis 
gust  of  the  English  to  the  bad  manners  and  careless 
habits  they  find  in  America.  Their  ways  of  driving  over 
these  excellent  roads  are  even  amusing  from  their  care. 
"  Evening  at  Mrs.  Derby's,  sister-in-law  of  Sir  Hum 
phrey.  Her  mother,  aged  seventy-six,  a  fine  specimen 
of  what  I  have  heard  of  the  Scotch  lady.  Next  day 
drive  with  Mrs.  P.  Handsome  dwellings  on  the  banks 
of  Windermere.  Evening  at  Miss  M.'s.  Mr.  Milman, 
Dr.  Gregory.  Stories  about  Hartley  Coleridge,  and 
account  of  Sara  C.,  author  of  l  Phantasmion.'  Note 
the  chapter  she  has  added  to  the  '  Aids  to  Reflection ' 
now  about  to  be  published. 

"It  seems  the  cause  of  Coleridge's  separation  from 
his  wife  and  family  was  wholly  with  himself :  because 
his  opium  and  his  indolence  prevented  his  making  any 
exertions  to  support  them.  That  burden  fell  on 
Southey,  who,  without  means,  except  from  his  pen,  sus 
tained  the  four  persons  thus  added  to  his  family.  Just 

as  I  might  do  for if  I  would.    Hartley  Coleridge's 

bad  habits  naturally  inherited  from  his  father.  Waiter 
offers  to  keep  '  the  talking  gentleman  '  to  board  him, 
to  clothe  him.  Oh  don't,  don't  take  away  the  '  talking 
gentleman ! '  How  wicked  to  transmit  these  morbid 
states  to  children !  Mr.  Milman's  hard  and  worldly  esti 
mate.  Introduced  to  Dr.  Gregory.  A  man  of  truly 
large,  benevolent  mind. 

"  Next  day  Grasmere,  Rydal  Mount.  I  was  disap 
pointed  in  the  habitation  of  Wordsworth.  It  is  almost 


224  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

the  least  beautiful  spot  hereabout.  Remarks  of  our 
landlady  about  TV.  how  pleasing,  constantly  ending  with 
*  And  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  too.'  '  And  really,  ma'  am,  I 
think  it  is  because  he  is  so  kind  a  neighbor.' 

"  Winderinere.  The  professed  magnetizer  with  his 
beaux  yeux  and  extreme  sensibility,  unable  to  confer 
benefit  without  receiving  injury,  gave  me  yet  another 
view  of  this  grand  subject."  l 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bracebridge,  specimens,  we  under 
stand,  of  the  first  English  hairy stocracy,  spoken  of  as 
something  extra  —  of  their  class,  —  and,  indeed,  they 
were  very  liberal.  Mr.  B.  much  engaged  in  prison  and 
other  reforms.  Owns  a  place  in  Athens,  and  lives  there 
often. 

"  Sunday  evening  with  B.'s  and  G.'s.  Gossip  about 
the  upper  classes,  but  in  a  good  spirit.  It  amused  me 
to  hear  the  mechanical,  measured  way  in  which  they 
talked  of  character.  With  all  the  abuses  of  America, 
we  have  one  advantage  which  outweighs  them  all. 
Most  persons  reject  the  privilege,  but  it  is,  really,  pos 
sible  for  one  to  grow. 

"  Monday.  Spent  the  morning  in  finishing  letter 
for  the  steamer.  Afternoon  on  the  lake  of  Grasmere. 
Wet  feet.  Extraordinary  kindness  of  the  ladies  of  the 
Clan  Campbell.  Easedale,  Loughrigg,  a  most  enchant 
ing  place,  dear  to  Wordsworth. 

"  Thursday.  Romantic  story  of  our  landlady's  hus 
band,  quite  in  my  line.  Walk  along  the  hills,  little 
ravine,  arched  bridge,  and  brook  rushing  beneath  it. 
Delightful  walk  over  the  fields  past  Fox  How.  Speak 

1  This  apparently  refers  to  the  celebrated  H.  G.  Atkinson,  who 
converted  Miss  Martineau  to  his  opinions.  Another  account  of 
him  by  Miss  Fuller  will  be  found  in  her  Memoirs,  ii.  173. 


EUROPEAN  TRAVEL.  225 

of  Dr.  Arnold  and  the  justice  done  him  all  around. 
Said  to  have  made  a  happy  and  equal  marriage.  Visit 
to  Wordsworth.  Evening  at  the  Greys'.  Cultivated 
and  liberal  mind  of  the  manufacturer.  Ditto  of  the 
country  gentleman.  Countess  Hahn  Hahn  had  just 
been  at  Ambleside. 

"  Wednesday.  To  Langdale.  Scaurfell  the  scene  of 
the  '  Excursion.'  Rothay  church.  First  fall  lunch  in 
the  farm-house.  Dungeon  Ghyll  Force.  Most  en 
chanting  view  at  last.  As  fine  a  day  as  I  ever  had.  Ac 
count  in  evening  by  tedious  Miss  Briggs  of  the  ease 
with  which  one  may  be  lost  in  the  mist.  This  -26th 
was  Eddie's  birthday. 

"  Thursday.  Farewell  to  Ambleside.  A  happy 
eight  days  we  have  had  here."  l 

Portions  of  a  more  complete  narrative,  based  on 
these  sketches,  will  be  found  in  her  "  Memoirs,"  2 
and  other  portions  in  her  "  Tribune  "  letters. 
The  instances  of  alternate  contraction  and  ex 
pansion,  in  these  ampler  narratives,  are  very 
interesting  and  characteristic,  and  the  total  im 
pression  of  truthfulness  and  accuracy  is  strong. 
There  are  no  signs  of  retouching  for  literary  ef 
fect,  but  in  many  cases  the  single  word  of  mem 
orandum  suggests  a  paragraph,  while  on  other 
points  caution  or  courtesy  dictated  a  reticence 
which  it  is  now  needless  to  maintain. 

Here  is  a  passage  from  her  Edinburgh  diary. 
David  Scott,  whose  pictures  interested  her  so 

*  MS.  Note-Book. 

2  ii.  171.  The  Tribune  letters  may  be  found  in  At  Home  and 
Abroad. 

15 


226  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

much,  painted  a  striking  portrait  of  Emerson, 
which  is  now  in  the  Concord,  Massachusetts, 
public  library :  — 

[September,  1846.]  "  At  Robert  Chambers's.  Saw 
there  beautiful  book  of  Highlanders  in  their  costumes. 
Hopes  of  chemistry  as  to  making  food.  Remark  of  R. 

C.  as  to  the  clumsiness  of  nature's  means  of  providing 
for  that  purpose,  etc.     Mrs.  C.  with  her  fifteen  children 
and  three  pair  of  twins  among  them. 

"  Monday.  Visit  to  the  Bank  of  Scotland.  To  [Da 
vid]  Scott's  room.  He  is  a  severe,  earnest  man  with 
high  imaginations.  I  liked  him  much,  and  his  pictures 
from  him,  though  there  was  not  one  which,  taken  by 
itself,  could  be  called  really  good. 

"  Note  here,  not  that  it  has  to  do  anything  with  these 
matters,  but  because  I  happen  to  think  of  it  here,  that 
the  tune  of  '  Scots  wha  hae '  is,  according  to  tradition, 
the  original  one  of  '  Hey  Tutti  Taiti,'  to  which  the 
Scots  did  actually  march  to  the  field  of  Bannockburn. 
Shoemaker  amazed  at  the  N.  Y.  [New  York]  shoes. 
Evening  at  Mrs.  Crowe's.  S.  B.  [Samuel  Brown.] 

D.  S.  [David  Scott.]     Mr.  De  Quincey.    Pleasant  flow 
of  talk,  but  the  Opium  Eater  did  not  get  into  his  gor 
geous  style.     Good  story  told  by  S.   B.   about  Burns. 
Write  it  out  for    '  Tribune '   and  quote  the  pertinent 
verse.1     I  was  very  sorry  to  leave  Edina  now ;  might 
have  had  such  good  times  with  the  two  friends." 

Her  view  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  is  put  in 
too  striking  a  manner  to  be  omitted  :  — 

[September,  1846.]     "  Holyrood.     Prince  LabanoflL 

1  This  story  may  be  found  in  Memoirs,  ii.  177  ;  and  the  Tribune 
letter  in  At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  139. 


EUROPEAN  TRAVEL.  227 

The  world  would  not  suffer  that  poor  beautiful  girl  to 
have  the  least  good  time,  and  now  cannot  rest  for  cham 
pioning  her.  Singular  misery  of  the  lot  of  a  woman 
with  whom  all  men  were  dying  in  love,  except  her  two 
last  husbands  ;  and  with  the  first,  a  poor  sickly  child, 
she  had  no  happiness.  A  woman  the  object  of  desire 
to  so  many,  yet  never  suffered  to  become  the  parent  of 
more  than  two  children,  and  from  those  separated  in  so 
brief  a  space  after  birth,  and  never  permitted  to  take  the 
least  comfort  in  them  afterwards.  Picture  of  Montrose 
charmed  my  eye.  Some  noble  Vandykes.  A  full 
length  of  George  by  Wilkie.  Hateful  old  John  Knox, 
with  a  wife  like  himself.  Came  up  the  Canongate. 
Were  ever  people  so  villainously  dirty  ?  "  J 

During  her  tour  in  Scotland  it  is  interesting  to 
see  how  lightly  she  passes  by  the  night  when  she 
was  lost  on  Ben  Lomond,  of  which  so  full  an  ac 
count  is  given  in  her  "  Memoirs : "  2  — 

[September,  1846.]  "  Inversnaid.  In  the  boat  to 
Rowardennan.  Loch  Lomond.  Boatmen.  A  fine 
race.  Gaelic  songs.  Relate  their  import.  Undoubting 
faith  of  these  people  in  the  story  of  '  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake/  '  Oh,  yes,'  said  the  boatmen,  '  we  know  they  are 
true,  having  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son  for 
so  many  generations.'  At  Rowardennan.  Down  in 
the  boat  to  Luss.  Character  of  the  place.  Cleanliness 
for  once.  The  minister,  a  *  ceevil  hamely  man.'  The 
Manse.  Sunset  on  Ben  Lomond.  I  was  alone.  Evening. 

1  MS.  Note-Book.     There  is  a  passage  somewhat  similar,  but 
not  nearly  so  well  stated,  reprinted  from  the  Tribune,  in  At  Home 
ttnd  Abroad,  p.  149. 

2  Memoirs,  ii.  178;  also,  At  Home  and  Abroad,  p,  153. 


228  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

Dance  of  the  reapers  in  the  barn.  Highland  strathspey 
and  fling  ?  Enormous  price  of  fruit  in  Edinburgh  ;  total 
want  of  it  in  the  country.  Quote  of  Sir  W.  Scott  the 
feelings  of  Fitz  James  about  treachery,  etc.,  in  his 
dream  ;  speak  of  his  character  and  quote  concluding 
lines  in  *  Lady  of  the  Lake.' 

"  Observation  on  figures  of  men  and  women  engaged 
in  the  Highland  dances.  Labor  alone  will  not  develop 
the  form. 

"Next  day.  Saturday,  12th  September.  Ascent  of 
Ben  Lomond.  Lost,  and  pass  the  night  on  a  heathery 
mountain.  All  the  adventures  of  the  eventful  twenty- 
hours  to  be  written  out  in  full.  Love  Marcus  and  Re 
becca  [Spring]  forever. 

"  Sunday.  Sick  all  day  from  fatigue  or  excitement. 
Dinner  given  by  M.  [Marcus  Spring]  to  the  shepherds. 
Their  natural  politeness  and  propriety  of  feeling.  Pe 
ter  Cameron.  Monday.  Still  ill,  but  walked  out  in 
the  afternoon  and  saw  the  purple  hills  and  lake,  with 
what  delightful  emotions.  I  seemed  to  have  become 
acquainted  with  their  genius  as  I  could  not  in  any  other 
way.  Inquiring  lady  thought  it  must  have  been  l  awk 
ward'  for  me  on  the  hill  between  12  and  1 !  Tuesday. 
Leave  Rowardennan.  Steamboat  with  its  execrable  fid 
dle,  a  I'ordinaire.  Tarbet.  Rowed  along  lochs  through 
pass  of  Glencrae  to  Cairndow.  Boat  to  Inverary  on 
Loch  Fine.  Night  there.  Read  l  Legend  of  Montrose.' 

"Wednesday  morning.  Duke  of  Argyle's  place. 
Highland  servant  in  full  costume,  stupid  as  the  stones 
he  trod  on.  Noble  park.  Black  Highland  cattle. 
Cross  in  the  market-place  from  lona." 

Margaret  Fuller's  note-book  closes  abruptly, 
like  that  of  many  a  traveler,  just  as  she  reaches 


EUROPEAN  TRAVEL.  229 

London,  where  it  would  be  the  most  interesting. 
Her  farther  progress  can  be  traced  by  her  letters 
to  the  "  Tribune,"  which  have  been  reprinted  by 
her  brother  in  the  volume  of  her  works  called 
"At  Home  and  Abroad."  Over  this  period  I 
shall  pass  rapidly,  as  it  is  very  amply  treated 
in  the  printed  "  Memoirs."  She  had,  of  course, 
that  peculiar  delight  of  the  cultivated  American 
in  London,  where,  as  Willis  said,  he  sees  whole 
shelves  of  his  library  walking  about  in  coats  and 
gowns.  With  her  boundless  love  of  knowledge, 
and  the  scantiness  of  libraries  and  museums  in  the 
America  of  that  day,  she  was  charmed  by  the 
centralization  of  London ;  the  concentration  in  one 
spot  of  treasures  such  as  may  by  and  by  be  found 
scattered  through  many  cities  in  America,  but  will 
never  be  brought  together  in  one.  She  saw  the 
heroes  of  that  day,  some  of  whom  are  heroes  still : 
Wordsworth,  Dr.  Chalmers,  Andrew  Combe,  the 
Howitts,  Dr.  Southwood  Smith,  De  Quincey,  Jo 
anna  Baillie.  Browning,  just  married,  had  gone 
to  Italy.  Her  descriptions  of  Carlyle 1  are  al 
most  as  spicy  as  Carlyle's  own  letters,  and  she  dis 
misses  Lewes  in  almost  as  trenchant  a  manner  as 
that  in  which  Carlyle  dismissed  Heraud.  Best  of 
all  for  her,  she  made  acquaintance  with  Mazzini, 
whom  she  was  soon  to  meet  again  in  Italy.  She 
was  very  cordially  received,  her  two  volumes  of 
"  Miscellanies "  having  just  been  favorably  re 
viewed  by  the  English  press ;  she  was  inundated 

1  Memoirs,  ii.  184. 


230  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

with  invitations  and  opportunities,  and  could  only 
mourn,  like  so  many  Americans  since  her  day,  that 
these  delightful  hospitalities  encroached  sadly  upon 
the  time  to  be  given  to  galleries  and  museums. 

In  Paris  she  saw  La  Mennais,  Beranger,  and 
George  Sand ;  went  constantly  to  the  lectures,  gal 
leries,  and  Chamber  of  Deputies  ;  saw  Rachel  act 
and  heard  Chopin  play.  She  found  her  "  Essay 
on  American  Literature "  translated  and  pub 
lished  in  "  La  Revue  Inde*pendante,"  though  the 
satisfaction  was  mitigated  by  having  her  name 
announced  as  Elizabeth.  She  worked  away  at 
learning  colloquial  French  until  she  spoke  it  flu 
ently,  though  not  accurately ;  and  her  teacher 
pleased  her  by  saying  that  her  accent  was  like 
that  of  an  Italian,  though  this  from  French  lips 
can  never  be  much  of  a  compliment.  Yet  with 
her  deep  love  for  Italy  she  was  probably  pleased 
at  the  thought  of  speaking  French  like  an  Ital 
ian,  just  as  Englishmen  are  said  to  be  pleased  at 
speaking  it  like  Englishmen  —  which,  to  do  them 
justice,  they  usually  accomplish.  On  February 
25,  1847,  she  left  Paris  for  Italy,  and  in  early 
spring  established  herself  for  a  time  in  Rome. 
In  summer  she  went  to  the  different  Italian  cities, 
then  to  Switzerland.  In  October  she  settled  her 
self  for  the  winter  in  Rome,  whose  wonderful  in 
spiration  she  profoundly  felt.  She  says  of  her 
own  first  experiences  there,  "  All  mean  things 
were  forgotten  in  the  joy  that  rushed  over  me 
like  a  flood."  She  felt,  as  so  many  Americans 


EUROPEAN  TRAVEL.  231 

feel  in  Europe,  an  impulse  to  separate  herself 
for  a  time  from  all  English-speaking  people  and 
plunge  into  a  wholly  untried  atmosphere.  She 
had  new  and  interesting  friends,  such  as  the  Mi 
lanese  Madame  Arconati,  Marchesa  Visconti ;  and 
a  Polish  lady,  born  Princess  Radzivill.  But  un 
like,  alas  !  the  majority  of  Americans  in  Europe, 
her  whole  sympathy  was  with  the  party  of  prog 
ress,  and  the  rapid  unrolling  of  events  in  1848 
made  an  occasion  for  her,  "  such  a  time  as  I  have 
always  dreamed  of,"  she  writes.  She  saw  the  up 
rising  against  Austria  ;  the  Austrian  arms  burned 
in  the  public  square.  She  was  herself  poor,  a 
stranger  remote  from  home  ;  but  she  was  for  a 
time  better  in  health  than  since  she  was  a  child, 
and  her  whole  heart  was  with  the  Italian  revolu 
tion.  When  Mazzini  returned  from  his  seven 
teen  years  of  exile,  she  was  able  to  stand  by  his 
side.  She  saw  the  republic  established ;  she  saw 
it  fall.  In  April,  1849,  Rome  was  besieged  by  the 
French  army.  Yet  already  a  deeper  thread  than 
even  the  welfare  of  Italy  had  mingled  itself  in  her 
life.  In  December,  1847,  she  had  been  secretly 
married  ;  in  September,  1848,  her  child  had  been 
born.  But  for  this  climax  of  her  life  I  must  turn 
to  the  narratives  of  others. 


XV. 

MARRIAGE   AND    MOTHEEHOOD. 

(1847-1850.) 

MARGARET  FULLER'S  profoundest  feeling  about 
marriage  and  motherhood  had  already  been  re 
corded  for  years  in  a  fragment  of  her  journal. 
With  strong,  firm  touches,  in  this  confession,  she 
balances  what  she  has  against  what  she  would 
fain  possess  ;  and  visibly  tries  to  make  the  best  of 
the  actual :  — 

"  I  have  no  home  on  the  earth,  and  [yet]  I  can  think 
of  one  that  would  have  a  degree  of  beautiful  harmony 
with  my  inward  life. 

"  But,  driven  from  home  to  home  as  a  Renouncer,  I 
get  the  picture  and  the  poetry  of  each.  Keys  of  gold, 
silver,  iron,  and  lead  are  in  my  casket. 

"  No  one  loves  me.  But  I  love  many  a  good  deal, 
and  see  some  way  into  their  eventual  beauty.  I  am 
myself  growing  better  and  shall  by  and  by  be  a  worthy 
object  of  love,  one  that  will  not  anywhere  disappoint  or 
need  forbearance.  Meanwhile  I  have  no  fetter  on  me, 
no  engagement,  and  as  I  look  on  others,  almost  every 
other,  can  I  fail  to  feel  this  a  great  privilege  ?  I  have 
no  way  tied  my  hands  or  feet.  And  yet  the  varied 
calls  on  my  sympathy  have  been  such  that  I  hope  not 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  233 

to  be  made  partial,  cold,  or  ignorant  by  this  isolation.  I 
have  no  child,  and  the  woman  in  me  has  so  craved  this 
experience,  that  it  has  seemed  the  want  of  it  must  par 
alyze  me.  But  now  as  I  look  on  these  lovely  children 
of  a  human  birth,  what  slow  and  neutralizing  cares  they 
bring  with  them  to  the  mother  !  The  children  of  the 
muse  come  quicker,  with  less  pain  and  disgust,  rest 
more  lightly  on  the  bosom  and  have "...  [here  the 
fragment  ends.]  l 

It  may  naturally  be  asked  why,  with  such  a 
true  woman's  longing  for  home  and  children,  Mar 
garet  Fuller  had  never  been  married.  Loved 
"with  oriental  adoration,"  in  Horace  Greeley's 
phrase,  by  many  women,  she  had  also  been  loved 
sincerely  by  many  men,  while  some  of  each  sex 
had  no  doubt  disliked  her.  Her  letters  to  the 
men  with  whom  she  was,  in  maturer  years,  most 
intimate  are  singularly  free,  I  will  not  merely  say 
from  coquettishness  or  sentimentality,  but  from 
anything  that  could  fall  short  of  her  high  stand 
ard  of  friendship.  There  is,  however,  no  question 
that  she  had  in  early  life  at  least  one  deep  expe-- 
rience  of  personal  emotion,  followed  by  a  reaction 
of  disappointment.  It  is  a  satisfaction  to  know 
that  the  same  letters  which  prove  this  —  letters 
which  I  am  not  authorized  to  publish,  nor  should 
I  wish  to  do  it  —  show  her  only  in  an  unselfish 
and  generous  aspect,  while  they  bring  her  nearer 
to  us  by  proving  that  even  she,  with  all  her  Ro 
man  ambition,  was  still  "  a  very  woman  "  at  heart, 
'i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


234  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

With  this  retrospect  for  a  background,  the  mar 
ried  life  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli  may  now  be 
studied.  It  will  be  portrayed,  so  far  as  possible, 
from  original  documents  ;  the  first  place  being 
given  to  a  letter,  relating  to  her,  not  included  in 
the  "  Memoirs,"  from  Mr.  Cass,  then  American 
charge  d'affaires  at  Rome,  and  one  of  the  few  in 
whom  she  put  confidence,  at  the  great  crisis  of 
her  life.  The  letter  is  addressed  to  Mrs.  W.  El- 
lery  Channing,  of  Concord,  Massachusetts,  who, 
as  has  already  been  said,  was  the  younger  sister 
of  Madame  Ossoli. 

"LEGATION  DBS  &TATS-UNIS  D'AMERIQUE. 
ROME,  May  10,  1851. 

"  MADAM,  —  I  beg  leave  to  acknowledge  the  receipt 
of  your  letter  of  the  — th  ult.,  and  to  express  my  regret 
that  the  weak  state  of  my  eyesight  has  prevented  me 
from  giving  it  an  earlier  reply. 

"In  compliance  with  your  request,  I  have  the  honor 
to  state,  succinctly,  the  circumstances  connected  with  my 
acquaintance  with  the  late  Madame  Ossoli,  your  de 
ceased  sister,  during  her  residence  in  Rome. 

"  In  the  month  of  April,  1849,  Rome,  as  you  are  no 
doubt  aware,  was  placed  in  a  state  of  siege  by  the  ap 
proach  of  the  French  army.  It  was  filled  at  that  time 
with  exiles  and  fugitives  who  had  been  contending  for 
years,  from  Milan,  in  the  North,  to  Palermo,  in  the 
South,  for  the  Republican  cause :  and  when  the  gates 
were  closed,  it  was  computed  that  there  were,  of  Italians 
alone,  thirteen  thousand  refugees  within  the  walls  of 
the  city,  all  of  whom  had  been  expelled  from  adjacent 
states,  till  Rome  became  their  last  rallying-point,  and  to 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  235 

many  their  final  resting-place.  Among  these  was  to  be 
seen  every  variety  of  age,  sentiment,  and  condition,  — 
striplings  and  blanched  heads ;  wild,  visionary  enthusi 
asts  ;  grave,  heroic  men,  who,  in  the  struggle  for  free 
dom,  had  ventured  all  and  lost  all ;  nobles  and  beggars ; 
bandits,  felons,  and  brigands.  Great  excitement  natu 
rally  existed ;  and,  in  the  general  apprehension  which 
pervaded  all  classes  that  acts  of  personal  violence  and 
outrage  would  soon  be  committed,  the  foreign  residents, 
especially,  found  themselves  placed  in  an  alarming  situ 
ation. 

"On  the  30th  of  April  the  first  engagement  took 
place  between  the  French  and  Roman  troops,  and  a  few 
days  subsequently  I  visited  several  of  my  countrymen, 
at  their  request,  to  concert  measures  for  their  safety. 
Hearing  on  that  occasion,  for  the  first  time,  of  Miss 
Fuller's  presence  in  Rome,  and  of  her  solitary  mode  of 
life,  I  ventured  to  call  upon  her,  offering  my  services  in 
any  manner  that  might  conduce  to  her  comfort  and  se 
curity.  She  received  me  with  much  kindness,  and  thus 
our  acquaintance  commenced.  Her  residence,  on  the 
Piazza  Barberini,  being  considered  an  insecure  abode, 
she  removed  to  the  Casa  Dies,  which  was  occupied  by 
several  American  families. 

"  In  the  engagements  [which  succeeded]  between  the 
Roman  and  French  troops,  the  wounded  of  the  former 
were  brought  into  the  city,  and  disposed  throughout  the 
different  hospitals,  which  were  under  the  superintend 
ence  of  several  ladies  of  high  rank,  who  had  formed 
themselves  into  associations,  the  better  to  insure  care 
and  attention  to  these  unfortunate  men.  Miss  Fuller 
took  an  active  part  in  this  noble  work,  and  the  greater 
portion  of  her  time,  during  the  entire  siege,  was  passed 


236  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

in  the  Hospital  of  the  Trinity  of  the  Pilgrims,  which 
was  placed  under  her  direction,  in  attendance  upon  its 
inmates. 

"  The  weather  was  intensely  hot ;  her  health  was  fee 
ble  and  delicate  ;  the  dead  and  dying  were  around  her 
in  every  form  of  pain  and  horror ;  but  she  never  shrank 
from  the  duty  she  had  assumed.  Her  heart  and  soul 
were  in  the  cause  for  which  these  men  had  fought,  and 
all  was  done  that  woman  could  do  to  comfort  them  in 
their  sufferings.  I  have  seen  the  eyes  of  the  dying,  as 
she  moved  among  them,  extended  upon  opposite  beds, 
meet  in  commendation  of  her  unwearied  kindness  ;  and 
the  friends  of  those  who  then  passed  away  may  derive 
consolation  from  the  assurance  that  nothing  of  tender 
ness  and  attention  was  wanting  to  soothe  their  last  mo 
ments.  And  I  have  heard  many  of  those  who  recovered 
speak  with  all  the  passionate  fervor  of  the  Italian  na 
ture  of  her,  whose  sympathy  and  compassion  through 
out  their  long  illness  fulfilled  all  the  offices  of  love  and 
affection.  Mazzini,  the  chief  of  the  Triumvirate,  —  who, 
better  than  any  man  in  Rome,  knew  her  worth,  — often 
expressed  to  me  his  admiration  of  her  high  character ; 
and  the  Princess  Belgiojoso,  to  whom  was  assigned  the 
charge  of  the  Papal  Palace  on  the  Quirinal,  which  was 
converted  on  this  occasion  into  a  hospital,  was  enthusi 
astic  in  her  praise.  And  in  a  letter  which  I  received 
not  long  since  from  this  lady,  who  is  gaining  the  bread 
of  an  exile  by  teaching  languages  in  Constantinople, 
she  alludes  with  much  feeling  to  the  support  afforded 
by  Miss  Fuller  to  the  Republican  party  in  Italy.  Here, 
in  Rome,  she  is  still  spoken  of  in  terms  of  regard  and 
endearment ;  and  the  announcement  of  her  death  was 
received  with  a  degree  of  sorrow  which  is  not  often  b& 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  237 

stowed  upon  a  foreigner,  and  especially  one  of  a  differ 
ent  faith. 

"  On  the  29th  of  June  the  bombardment  from  the 
French  camp  was  very  heavy,  shells  and  grenades  fall 
ing  from  every  part  of  the  city.  In  the  afternoon  of 
the  30th  I  received  a  brief  note  from  Miss  Fuller,  re 
questing  me  to  call  at  her  residence.  I  did  so  without 
delay,  and  found  her  lying  on  a  sofa,  pale  and  trem 
bling,  evidently  much  exhausted.  She  informed  me 
that  she  had  sent  for  me  to  place  in  my  hands  a  packet 
of  important  papers,  which  she  wished  me  to  keep  for 
the  present,  and,  in  the  event  of  her  death,  to  transmit 
it  to  her  friends  in  the  United  States.  She  then  stated 
that  she  was  married  to  the  Marquis  Ossoli,  who  was  in 
command  of  a  battery  on  the  Pincian  Hill.  That  being 
the  highest  and  most  exposed  position  in  Rome,  and 
directly  in  the  line  of  the  bombs  from  the  French  camp, 
it  was  not  to  be  expected,  she  said,  that  he  could  escape 
the  dangers  of  another  night  such  as  the  last,  and  there 
fore  it  was  her  intention  to  remain  with  him,  and  share 
his  fate.  At  the  Ave  Maria,  she  added,  he  would  come 
for  her,  and  they  would  proceed  together  to  his  post. 
The  packet  which  she  placed  in  my  possession,  con 
tained,  she  said,  the  certificates  of  her  marriage,  and  of 
the  birth  and  baptism  of  her  child.  After  a  few  words 
more,  I  took  my  departure,  the  hour  she  named  having 
nearly  arrived.  At  the  porter's  lodge  I  met  the  Mar 
quis  Ossoli,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards  I  saw  them 
walking  towards  the  Pincian  Hill. 

"  Happily  the  cannonading  was  not  renewed  that 
night,  and  at  dawn  of  day  she  returned  to  her  apart 
ment,  with  her  husband  by  her  side. 

"  On  the  same  day  the  French  army  entered  Rome, 


238  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

and,  the  gates  being  opened,  Madame  Ossoli,  accompa 
nied  by  the  Marquis,  immediately  proceeded  to  Rieti,  a 
village  lying  at  the  base  of  the  Abruzzi  Mountains, 
where  she  had  left  her  child  in  the  charge  of  a  confiden 
tial  nurse,  formerly  in  the  service  of  the  Ossoli  family. 
She  remained,  as  you  are  no  doubt  aware,  some  months 
at  Rieti,  whence  she  removed  to  Florence,  where  she 
resided  until  her  ill-fated  departure  for  the  United 
States.  During  this  period  I  received  several  letters 
from  her,  all  of  which,  though  reluctant  to  part  with 
them,  I  inclose  to  your  address,  in  compliance  with  your 
request. 

"  I  am,  Madam,  very  respectfully,  your  obedient  ser 
vant,  LEWIS  CASS,  JR."  1 

The  circumstances  under  which  Margaret  Ful 
ler  and  her  husband  first  met  have  been  several 
times  described ;  and  every  account  of  them  must 
mainly  rest  upon  the  important  narrative  by  Mrs. 
William  W.  Story,  the  greater  part  of  which  was 
published  long  since  in  the  "  Memoirs."2  In  this 
letter  she  not  only  describes  the  occasion  when 
Madame  Ossoli  confided  the  secret  of  the  mar 
riage  and  placed  the  evidences  of  it  in  Mrs. 
Story's  hands ;  but  she  gives  from  immediate  au 
thority  a  narrative  of  the  first  interviews  between 
those  who  were  thus  strangely  brought  together. 
If  I  vary  somewhat  from  this  account,  as  hereto 
fore  printed,  it  is  because  Mrs.  Story's  original 
letter  lies  before  me ;  and  I  have  attached  impor- 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  669.     Published  also  with  Women  in  the  Nine- 
**enth  Century,  when  reprinted  in  1869. 
a  Memoirs,  ii.  281. 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  239 

tance  to  certain  passages  which  were  omitted, 
perhaps  for  want  of  space  or  reasons  of  literary 
convenience,  in  the  "  Memoirs." 

Soon  after  Margaret  Fuller's  first  coming  to 
Rome,  early  in  1847,  she  went,  one  day,  to  hear 
vespers  at  St.  Peter's,  and,  after  the  service,  pro 
posed  to  her  companions,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spring, 
that  they  should  wander  separately,  at  will,  among 
the  chapels,  and  meet  at  a  certain  designated 
point.  Failing,  however,  to  find  them  again,  she 
walked  about,  in  some  perplexity,  scanning  differ 
ent  groups  through  her  eye-glass.  Ere  long  a 
young  man  of  gentlemanly  address  came  up  to 
her,  seeing  her  evident  discomfort,  and  offered  his 
services  as  guide.  After  they  had  continued  their 
search  in  vain,  for  some  time,  during  which  the 
crowd  had  dispersed,  he  endeavored  to  find  a  car 
riage  for  her;  and  this  failing,  they  walked  to 
gether  to  her  residence,  conversing  with  some  dif 
ficulty,  as  he  knew  no  English  and  she  had  not 
yet  learned  Italian.  At  the  door  they  parted,  and 
she  told  her  friends  the  adventure.  A  day  or  two 
after  this,  she  observed  the  same  young  man  walk 
ing  before  the.  house,  as  if  meditating  entrance ; 
and  they  finally  met  once  or  twice  before  she  left 
Rome  for  the  summer.  She  was  absent  from 
June  to  October,  visiting  Florence,  Bologna,  Ven 
ice,  Milan,  the  Italian  lakes,  and  Switzerland.  In 
October  she  established  herself  again  in  Rome, 
having  an  "  apartment  "  in  the  Corso,  and  trying 
to  live  for  six  months  on  four  hundred  dollars. 


240  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

She  wrote  to  her  mother  that  she  had  not  been  so 
well  since  she  was  a  child,  or  so  happy  even  then. 
She  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  climate,  which 
had  at  first  affected  her  unfavorably  ;  she  could 
study  history  and  antiquities;  she  had  near  her 
some  tried  friends,  such  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cranch 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Story ;  and  she  received  her 
acquaintances,  at  her  rooms,  in  a  simple  way, 
every  Monday  evening.  Among  these  guests 
came  constantly  her  new  acquaintance,  the  young 
Italian,  —  well  known  by  this  time  as  Giovanni 
Angelo,  Marquis  Ossoli.  He  sympathized  in  her 
zeal  for  what  then  seemed  the  promise  of  Italian 
liberty,  and  it  is  thought  by  those  who  best  knew 
them  that  she  did  much  in  strengthening  his  pur 
pose  to  throw  off  the  traditions  of  his  family,  and 
pledge  himself  to  the  party  of  the  people.  Yet 
through  his  kindred  he  still  kept  up  some  rela 
tions  with  the  other  side,  and  the  two  attended 
the  meetings  held  by  the  different  factions  ;  being 
meanwhile  steadily  drawn  together  by  the  excite 
ment  of  a  common  interest. 

It  happened  that  the  old  Marquis  Ossoli  died 
of  a  lingering  illness  that  winter,  and,  as  An 
gelo  was  his  youngest  and  only  unmarried  child, 
the  care  of  the  father  came  peculiarly  upon  this 
son.  During  this  time  of  anxiety  he  used  to 
spend  a  few  daily  moments  with  Margaret  Fuller, 
sure  of  sympathy  and  strength ;  and  it  was  im 
mediately  after  his  father's  death  that  he  disclosed 
his  love,  "  telling  her,"  according  to  Mrs.  Story 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  241 

"  that  he  must  marry  her  or  be  miserable."  "  She 
refused  to  look  on  him  as  a  lover,"  continued  Mrs. 
Story,  "  and  insisted  that  it  was  not  fitting,  — 
that  it  was  best  he  should  marry  a  younger 
woman  ;  that  she  would  be  his  friend  but  not  his 
wife.  In  this  way  it  rested  for  some  weeks,  dur 
ing  which  we  saw  Ossoli  pale,  dejected,  and  un 
happy.  He  was  always  with  her,  but  in  a  sort 
of  hopeless,  desperate  manner,  until  at  length  he 
convinced  her  of  his  love,  and  she  married  him."  * 
After  this  followed  the  siege  of  Rome,  and  Mar 
garet  Fuller's  service  in  the  hospitals,  — as  already 
described  in  Mr.  Cass's  letter,  —  while  Ossoli 
was  in  the  army  outside  the  city.  One  day,  after 
great  anxiety,  she  called  Mrs.  Story  to  her,  and 
confided  to  her  the  secret  of  her  marriage,  show 
ing  her  the  marriage  certificate  and  those  relat 
ing  to  the  birth  of  her  child.  These  she  confided 
to  Mrs.  Story,  with  a  book  containing  the  narra 
tive  of  her  whole  acquaintance  with  her  husband. 
The  papers  were  kept  for  a  time  by  Mrs.  Story, 
and  at  length  returned  to  Madame  Ossoli ;  and 
every  trace  of  them  is  now  lost  forever.  The 
conclusion  of  Mrs.  Story's  narrative  will  now  be 
given  almost  entire,  its  picture  of  the  married  life 
of  the  Ossolis  being  too  valuable  to  be  omitted. 
Like  the  passages  just  quoted,  this  has  never  be 
fore  been  printed :  — 

..."  At  once,  Ossoli,  Margaret,  and  the  child  went 
to  Florence.     Rome  was  shut  upon  them,  and  they  had 

i  MS. 
16 


242  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

some  difficulty  in  getting  a  permission  to  remain  even 
in  Florence.  (Mr.  Greenough  interested  himself  to  get 
this  for  them.)  After  this  we  never  saw  them  ;  some 
letters  I  have  which  tell  a  tale  of  deep  maternal  happi 
ness  and  satisfaction  —  of  the  tenderness  of  her  hus 
band,  and  of  serene  days  such  as  her  life  had  known 
but  few.  I  look  back  upon  those  days  in  Florence  as 
the  peacefullest  she  had  ever  known ;  in  them  she  had 
sweet  communion  with  nature,  love,  and  a  tender  moth- 
er's  joy.  I  believe  that  she  was  coming  home  to  richer 
blessings,  and  a  life  if  of  some  struggles,  still  of  sure  en 
joyment. 

"  I  have  heard  it  suggested  by  some  one  that  Ossoli 
had  married  Margaret  under  the  impression  of  her  hav- 
ing  a  large  fortune.  That  this  is  utterly  false  I  can  de 
clare,  since  to  my  own  knowledge  he  was  in  the  habit, 
even  from  their  first  acquaintance,  of  making  for  her 
what  the  Italians  term  little  economies,  and  was  in 
Margaret's  unreserved  confidence  as  to  the  feeble  state 
of  her  purse. 

"  Again,  I  have  heard  it  said  that  he  was  a  person 
entirely  without  education.  I  can  only  say  that  his  edu 
cation  was  equal  to  that  of  most  Roman  gentlemen,  not 
thorough,  but  such  as  suited  him  for  his  rank  and  po 
sition.  He  had  from  his  youth  been  under  the  care  of  a 
priest,  who  taught  him  as  a  tutor.  He  knew  not  much 
of  foreign  languages,  read  French  a  little,  and  was  a 
good  deal  interested  in  Italian  history. 

"  Many  of  our  countrymen  who  saw  him  could  dis 
cover  little  in  him,  but  that  was  rather  because  he  was 
not  quickly  interested  in  others,  than  that  he  lacked  in 
teresting  points.  He  was  always  reserved,  and,  when 
with  Margaret,  preferred  always  to  hear  her  talk,  even 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  243 

when  she  spoke  a  language  he  did  not  know,  than  to 
talk  himself  or  hear  any  one  else. 

"  His  manner  towards  Margaret  was  devoted  and 
lover-like  to  a  striking  degree.  He  cared  not  how  trivial 
was  the  service  if  he  might  perform  it  for  her.  I  re 
member  to  have  seen  him  one  morning,  after  they  had 
been  married  nearly  two  years,  set  off  on  an  errand  to 
get  the  handle  of  her  parasol  mended,  with  as  much 
genuine  knightly  zeal  as  if  the  charge  had  been  a  much 
weightier  one.  As  he  took  it,  he  said,  *  How  sweet  it  is 
to  do  little  things  for  you  ;  never  attend  to  such  yourself, 
always  leave  them  to  me  for  my  pleasure.'  When  she 
was  ill  he  nursed  and  watched  over  her  with  the  tender 
ness  of  woman.  When  she  said  to  him,  *  How  have  you 
learned  to  be  so  good  a  nurse,'  he  said,  *  My  father  was 
ill,  and  I  tended  upon  him.'  No  service  was  too  trivial, 
no  sacrifice  too  great  for  him.  He  never  wished  her  to 
give  up  any  pleasure  because  he  could  not  share  it,  but 
if  she  were  interested,  he  would  go  with  her  to  any 
house,  leave  her,  and  call  again  to  take  her  home.  Such 
tender,  unselfish  love  I  have  rarely  before  seen ;  it  made 
green  her  days,  and  gave  her  an  expression  of  peace 
and  serenity  which  before  was  a  stranger  to  her.  *  No 
companion  in  nature  was  ever  so  much  to  me  as  is  Os- 
soli ; '  does  not  this  show  that  his  soul  was  deep  and  full 
of  emotion ;  for  who  that  knew  Margaret  Fuller  would 
believe  that  any  other  companion  would  have  been 
agreeable  to  her  in  her  communion  with  nature.  What 
a  beautiful  picture  is  that  of  their  return  to  Rome  after 
a  day  spent  on  the  Campagna !  "  l 

To   this  narrative   I  will  add   another   letter, 
from  Mrs.  Story  to  Mrs.  J.  R.  Lowell,  transcribed 
i  MS. 


244  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

by  the  latter  for  Miss  Sarah  F.  Clarke,  and  giving 
some  additional  particulars.  It  is  without  a  date, 
but  belongs  to  just  this  period,  and  has  not  before 
been  printed :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  CLARKE, —  I  have  just  received  a 
letter  from  my  friend,  Emelyn  Story,  in  which  she 
speaks  of  a  friend  of  yours,  and  of  her  husband,  in  a 
way  which  I  thought  might  be  interesting  and  pleasant 
to  you,  so  I  copy  it. 

"  '  As  to  Margaret  Fuller's  marriage,  I  might  write 
you  at  any  length  upon  that  subject,  but  from  lack  of 
room  to  do  so,  I  shall  merely  tell  you  that  I  have 
known  of  the  marriage  since  May,  now  some  six  months, 
during  which  time  I  have  been  under  a  solemn  pledge 
of  secrecy  ;  now  she  releases  me,  I  can  only  say  that 
we  knew  and  liked  Mr.  Ossoli,  or,  as  his  title  goes,  the 
Marquis  Ossoli,  very  much ;  he  is  much  younger  than 
Margaret,  being,  as  I  should  judge,  about  William's 
age  (thirty),  is  good  looking,  quite  handsome,  as  the 
Italians  go,  has  a  melancholy  expression  about  the  eyes 
—  is  tall  and  thin.  In  character  he  seems  to  be  remark 
ably  amiable  and  tender,  not  intellectual,  simple,  natu 
ral,  and  good.  During  the  attack  of  the  French  on 
Rome  he  showed  great  courage,  spirit,  and  zeal,  was 
conspicuous  among  the  officers  for  his  devotion  to  his 
duties.  So  much  we  saw  ourselves,  for  we  often  went 
to  his  post  and  found  him  exhausted  and  faint  for  want 
of  food  and  rest,  but  always  firm  and  resolute  to  re 
main  to  the  end.  He  was  a  captain  of  the  Civic 
Guard,  and  in  many  respects  conspicuous  for  his  ad 
herence  to  Mazzini's  views,  so  that  now  they  cannot 
remain  in  Rome,  and  were  obliged  to  leave  at  once 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  245 

npon  the  entrance  of  the  French.  His  family  are  dis 
tinguished  for  the  same  zeal  on  the  other  side,  that  of 
the  Pope,  and  are  in  the  Papal  household,  his  two 
brothers  being  chamberlains  to  the  Pope.  His  radical 
ism  causes  him  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  black  sheep  in 
the  family,  and  it  was  on  account  of  family  difficulties 
that  the  marriage  was  not  sooner  made  known.  If 
people  were  not  always  the  best  judges  for  themselves, 
it  would  seem  better  that  it  should  have  been  made 
known  at  first ;  but  I  know  enough  of  their  affairs  to 
say  that  they  were  prevented  solely  by  family  matters 
from  declaring  it  at  the  time  it  occurred. 

" '  Margaret  is  now  living  in  Florence ;  their  future  is 
rather  dark  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  as  the  small 
fortune  he  inherited  is  tied  up,  in  some  way,  by  the 
change  of  government  and  depreciation  of  property,  so 
that,  at  least  for  the  present,  it  is  not  available,  and  I 
doubt  if  it  ever  comes  to  much.  All  I  know  is  that 
Margaret  will  have  to  exert  herself.  Now  that  their 
little  boy  is  with  them,  and  is  well,  they  are  perfectly 
happy.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  Margaret  might 
be  able  to  enjoy  this  happiness  without  anxiety  about 
meeting  the  expenses,  etc.,  etc.  Ossoli  is  a  devoted 
lover ;  he  is  all  kindness  and  attention  to  her,  and  I 
think  she  has  chosen  the  better  part  in  marrying  him, 
for  his  love  must  be  most  precious  to  her.  Judging  from 
what  he  was  after  a  year's  marriage,  I  should  say  he 
was  more  of  a  lover  than  before  their  marriage.  He  is 
a  gentleman  in  manners  and  bearing,  as  he  is  by  birth. 
His  father  is  at  the  head  of  one  [of]  the  Rioni  [wards 
or  quarters]  in  Rome,  and  his  family  are  of  undoubted 
rank  and  position  there.  I  believe  her  child  is  healthy 
and  strong,  although  it  suffered  much  from  the  faithless- 


246  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

ness  of  its  nurse,  whose  milk  failing,  [she]  fed  it  upon 
wine  and  bread,  and  this  at  the  time  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ossoli  were,  shut  up  in  Rome,  during  the  siege.  When, 
at  last,  she  could  leave  Rome  and  go  into  the  country  to 
see  him,  she  found  him  quite  ill,  almost,  as  she  feared, 
beyond  recovery,  so  that  she  at  once  took  him  to  Flor 
ence,  where  he  has  regained  his  health. 

"  *  Mr.  Ossoli  does  not  speak  English,  not  even  a  sen 
tence,  that  I  ever  heard,  so  that  he  has  not  been  known 
to  many  Americans,  not  even  to  some  of  William's 
friends ;  but  he  was  often  at  our  house,  and  we  knew 
him,  perhaps,  better  than  any  one.' 

"  You  may  have  seen  this  before,  but  not  in  the  same 
form,  and  I  thought  it  might  be  interesting  to  you  to 
hear  from  a  fresh  person  so  pleasant  a  statement  of  Mr. 
Ossoli's  character,  pleasanter  than  those  we  have  some 
times  heard  here. 

"  I  shall  not  give  up  that  day  you  promised  me,  but 
find  you  soon,  and  make  you  fix  upon  one. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  MARIA  LOWELL. 

"  CAMBRIDGE,  ELMWOOD,  Friday  morn." 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  throughout  this  letter, 
Mrs.  Lowell  uniformly  spells  the  name  of  Marga 
ret  Fuller's  husband  "  Ossili,"  and  it  illustrates 
how  vague  a  knowledge  of  the  whole  affair  had  at 
first  reached  America.  Through  such  statements 
as  these  it  came  to  be  better  understood  ;  and  the 
really  simple  and  noble  character  of  Margaret 
Fuller's  young  lover  stood  out  above  all  distrust. 
There  lie  before  me  two  old-fashioned  daguerreo 
types  of  him,  and  a  lock  of  his  hair,  the  charac* 


MARRIAGE  AND  MOTHERHOOD.  247 

teristic  blue-black  hair  of  his  nation.  The  pic 
tures  represent  a  thoroughly  Italian  face  and  fig 
ure  :  dark,  delicate,  slender ;  by  no  means  the  man, 
one  would  say,  to  marry  at  thirty  an  American 
woman  of  thirty-seven,  she  being  poor,  intellectual, 
and  without  beauty.  Yet  it  will  be  very  evident, 
when  we  come  to  read  their  letters  to  each  other, 
that  the  disinterested  and  devoted  love  which 
marked  this  marriage  was  so  far  a  fulfillment  of 
Margaret  Fuller's  early  dreams.  Mr.  Kinney,  the 
American  consul,  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson  from 
Turin,  May  2,  1851 :  "  It  is  abundantly  evident 
that  her  young  husband  discharged  all  the  obliga 
tions  of  his  relation  to  her  con  amore.  His  admi 
ration  amounted  to  veneration,  and  her  yearning 
to  be  loved  seemed  at  least  to  be  satisfied." J  There 
is  every  reason  to  believe  that  this  statement  was 
none  too  strong. 

i  MS. 


XVI. 

LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE. 

BY  a  happy  fatality,  the  only  Italian  papers  of 
Margaret  Ossoli's  that  are  preserved  are  the  let 
ters  that  passed  between  her  and  her  husband, 
during  their  various  separations,  before  and  after 
the  birth  of  their  child.     The  originals  are  now, 
partially  at  least,  in  the  possession  of  Miss  Edith 
Fuller,  in  Cambridge  ;   and  a  translation  of   the 
whole,  made  by  Miss  Elizabeth  Hoar,  is  in  my  pos 
session.     I  wish  that  they  could  all  be  published, 
for  more  loving  and  devoted  letters  never  passed 
between  husband  and  wife.     Fragments  of  them 
appeared  in  the  "  Memoirs  ;  "  but  I  have  avoided 
making  use  of  any  which  are  there  printed,  except 
in  one  or  two  cases  where  scattered  portions  alone 
have  appeared.     The  preference  has  been   given 
to  those  written  about   the  time   of  her   child's 
birth,  because  there  is  no  period  which  tests  more 
deeply  the  depth  and  the  heroism  of  conjugal  affec 
tion  than  those  anxious  weeks.     At  the  birth  of  a 
first  child,  every  mother  knows,  and  her  husband 
knows,  that  she  is  to  meet  much  the  same  sort  of 
peril  with  any  soldier  who  marches  up  to  a  bat 
tery  ;  except  that  this  danger  is  to  be  met  alone, 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE.    249 

without  trumpet-blast  or  the  thrill  of  companion 
ship  in  danger,  and  that  it  also  involves  the  peril 
of  a  life  unborn,  and  more  precious  than  one's 
own.  In  the  case  of  a  mother  past  her  first  youth, 
the  peril  is  doubled  ;  and,  where  she  is  without 
skilled  medical  attendance  or  nursing,  it  is  quad 
rupled.  All  these  evils  were  combined  in  the 
case  of  Madame  Ossoli ;  and  she  lived  withal 
among  ignorant  and  sordid  mountaineers,  whom 
she  could  not  propitiate,  for  the  want  of  money,  in 
the  only  way  that  could  reach  them.  This  was 
the  situation  ;  the  letters  will  speak  for  them 
selves.  I  have  employed  Miss  Hoar's  translation, 
with  some  modifications. 

FROM   OSSOLI. 

[Between  August  3d  and  15th,  1848.] 

"  DEAR  WIFE,  —  There  is  nothing  at  the  banker's  but 
the  journals,  which  I  send  you.  I  fear  that  it  will  be 
difficult  for  us  to  see  each  other  again,  because  Pio  IX. 
now  wishes  the  Civic  Guard  to  go  to  the  frontiers  and 
defend  Bologna.  I  hope  that  I  may  at  least  be  able 
to  come  and  make  a  visit,  and  embrace  you  yet  once 
more,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  anything  certain.  I  have 
been  trying  to  deliver  the  letter  for  the  doctor ;  but  his 
coachman  assures  me  that  he  will  be  in  Rome  in  Sep 
tember.  To-morrow  he  will  find  some  one  to  deliver 
your  letter. 

"  While  I  am  awaiting  good  news  of  yourself,  and  of 
a  beautiful  and  good  child,  adieu,  my  love,  and  believe 
me  your  G.  O." 


250  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

FROM   OSSOLI. 

ROME,  \nh  August,  1848. 

"  MIA  CARA,  — My  state  is  the  most  deplorable  that 
can  be ;  I  have  had  an  extraordinary  struggle.  If  your 
condition  were  not  such  as  it  is,  I  could  decide  more 
easily,  but  in  the  present  moment  I  cannot  leave  you  ; 
I  cannot  remove  myself  to  a  distance  from  you,  my  dear 
love ;  ah !  how  cruel  is  my  destiny  in  this  emergency. 
It  is  true  that  my  friends  would  not  advise  me  to  go, 
hoping  for  me  always  a  better  fortune.  But  then  must 
I  always  hope,  and  be  always  in  the  presence  of  my 
unkind  brothers,  at  a  moment  when  I  might  remove  my 
self  from  their  hateful  sight.  The  heart,  duty,  cannot 
resolve  it. 

"  In  your  dear  last  of  the  7th,  I  understand  well  how 
much  you  would  sacrifice  yourself  for  me.  I  am  deeply 
grateful  to  you  for  it,  but  I  cannot  yet  decide." 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"RiETi,  18th  August,  1848. 

"I  feel,  love,  a  profound  sympathy  with  your  tor 
ments,  but  I  am  not  able  to  give  you  a  perfectly  wise 
counsel.  Only  it  seems  to  me  the  worst  possible  moment 
to  take  up  arms  except  in  the  cause  of  duty,  of  honor. 
The  Pope  being  so  cold,  his  minister  undecided,  noth 
ing  will  be  well  or  successfully  done.  As  the  interven 
tion  of  France  and  England  is  hoped  for,  it  is  yet  un 
certain  whether  the  war  will  continue.  If  not,  you  will 
leave  Rome  and  the  employment  with  your  uncle  for 
nothing. 

"  If  it  is  possible  to  wait  two  or  three  weeks,  the 
public  state  and  mine  also  will  be  decided,  and  you  can 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND   WIFE.    251 

make  your  decision  with  more  tranquillity.  Otherwise, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  ought  to  say  nothing,  but  leave  it 
to  your  own  judgment  what  to  do.  Only,  if  you  go, 
come  here  first.  I  must  see  you  once  more. 

"  It  troubles  me  much  that  I  can  tell  you  nothing 
certain  of  myself,  but  I  am  still  in  the  same  waiting 
state.  I  have  passed  a  very  bad  night,  my  head  is  this 
morning  much  disturbed.  I  have  bled  a  good  deal  at 
the  nose,  and  it  is  hard  for  me  to  write. 

"  Do  not  ask  permission  of  your  uncle,  if  it  is  so 
difficult.  We  shall  know  how  to  arrange  things  with 
out  that.  If  you  do  not  come  I  shall  expect  a  letter 
from  you  on  Sunday ;  also  (if  there  are  any)  from  the 
banker's,  and  also  the  last  of  those  Milanese  papers. 
Poor  friends,  shut  up  there.  I  wish  so  much  for  some 
certain  intelligence  of  their  fate. 

"  Adieu,  dear ;  our  misfortunes  are  many  and  un 
locked  for.  Not  often  does  destiny  demand  a  greater 
price  for  some  happy  moments.  Never  do  I  repent  of 
our  affection,  and  for  you,  if  not  for  me,  I  hope  that 
life  has  still  some  good  in  store.  Adieu,  may  God  give 
you  counsel  and  help,  since  it  is  now  not  in  the  power 
of  your  affectionate ." 

FROM    MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  Sunday,  20th  August  [1848]. 

"  Mio  CARO,  —  I  expected  you  a  little  this  morning, 
and  had  your  coffee  all  ready,  but  I  believe  you  had 
reason  for  delay.  If  there  is  nothing  to  the  contrary, 
come  next  Saturday  evening. 

"  My  nights  become  more  and  more  disturbed,  and 
this  morning  I  was  obliged  to  be  bled  again ;  since  then, 
I  find  myself  relieved,  but  weak,  and  unable  to  say 
more  than  that  I  am  always  yo  ur  affectionate . 


252  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

"  Inclosed  is  another  order  on  the  banker,  in  case 
you  come  Saturday.  I  write  it  now,  being  uncertain 
that  I  can  write  many  days  longer.  I  embrace  you !  " 

FROM  OSSOLI. 

ROME,  21  st  August,  1848. 

Mio  BENE,  —  I  have  received  your  dear  letter,  and 
am  very  sorry  not  to  have  found  myself  there  to  break 
fast  with  you  ;  but  I  am  waiting  a  message  from  you  to 
bring  me  directly  to  you,  and  I  hope  to  find  myself  some 
day  so  situated  that  you  will  no  longer  have  need  of  a 
companion.  You  tell  me  that  you  are  not  very  well 
able  to  write,  and  I  am  sorry  for  you ;  but  since  it  gives 
you  so  much  fatigue,  ask  the  master  of  the  house  to 
write,  if  nothing  else,  a  little  assurance  of  your  health, 
since  this  is  a  great  solace  to  me,  and  I  wish  you  would 
at  least  put  your  seal  ring  upon  it,  for  that  is  enough 
for  me.  Believe  me  always  the  same.  I  embrace  you, 
adieu  ;  thy  affectionate  G.  A.  O." 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  RIETI,  22d  August,  1848. 

"  I  am  a  little  better,  dearest ;  but  if  I  could  thus  pass 
a  less  suffering  day !  On  the  contrary,  it  troubles  me 
that  this  seems  rather  an  indication  that  I  must  wait  yet 
longer.  Wait !  That  is  always  hard.  But  —  if  I 
were  sure  of  doing  well  —  I  should  wish  much  to  pass 
through  this  trial  before  your  arrival ;  yet  when  I  think 
that  it  is  possible  for  me  to  die  alone,  without  the  touch 
of  one  dear  hand,  I  wish  to  wait  yet  longer.  So  I  hope 
for  your  presence  on  Sunday  morning. 

"  I  see  by  the  papers  that  the  Pope  suspends  the  de 
parture  of  the  troops.  He  acts  as  I  thought  he  would» 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.    253 

and  I  am  now  very  glad  that  you  did  not  actually  enter 
the  service  yet.  In  a  short  time  our  affairs  will  be  more 
settled,  and  you  can  decide  more  advantageously  than 
now. 

"  Try  if  you  can  hear  any  particulars  from  Milan ; 
would  it  not  be  possible  in  the  Gaffe  degli  Belli  Arti  ? 
I  am  much  troubled  by  the  fate  of  those  dear  friends  ; 
how  much  they  must  suffer  now. 

"  I  still  think  so  much  of  you.  I  hope  that  you  are 
less  tormented.  If  we  were  together,  it  would  be  a 
consolation.  Now  everything  goes  wrong,  but  it  is  im 
possible  it  should  always  be  so.  Adieu,  love  ;  it  vexes 
me  that  so  many  days  must  pass  before  your  coming  — 
so  many,  so  many.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  the  little 
picture ;  I  look  at  it  often.  God  keep  you." 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  RIETI,  25th  August. 

"  My  LOVE,  —  I  have  this  morning  your  letter  of 
Wednesday.  You  do  not  say  whether  you  are  to  come 
Saturday  evening  or  no,  but  I  hope  for  it  confidently. 
I  cannot  wait  longer,  in  any  event,  if  I  am  not  obliged 
to  do  it  by  your  affairs.  Nothing  comes  for  me  yet.  I 
do  not  know  what  to  think. 

"  Thero  is  a  beautiful  spot  near,  where  we  can  go 
together,  if  I  am  able  still  to  go  out  when  you  come.  I 
shall  expect  you  on  Sunday  morning,  and  will  have 
your  coffee  ready  again.  Nothing  more  now,  because 
writing  is  really  difficult  for  your  affectionate ." 

On  September  5, 1848,  her  child,  Angelo  Philip 
Eugene  Ossoli,  was  born.  Two  days  after,  she 
writes,  by  an  amanuensis,  only  signing  the  letter 
herself :  — 


254  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 


DICTATED    BY    MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  RIETI,  Thursday,  7th  September,  1848. 

DEAR  HUSBAND,  —  I  am  well,  much  better  than  I 
hoped.  The  baby  also  is  well,  but  cries  much  yet,  and  I 
hope  that  he  will  be  more  quiet  when  you  come.  For  the 
rest,  I  desire  that  you  should  be  without  anxiety  about 
me,  and  I  will  send  you  frequent  accounts  of  myself, 
writing  again  very  soon.  You  may  send  to  the  post, 
prepaid,  the  letter  of  mine  for  Paris,  which  you  have. 

"  All  this  family  with  whom  I  am  staying  salute  you. 
Giving  you  an  embrace  and  a  kiss,  in  the  person  of  this 
dear  child  whom  I  have  in  my  arms,  I  am  your  af 
fectionate  [in  her  own  hand]  MARGHERITA." 

FROM  MADAME  OSSOLI,  IN   PENCIL.     HER  OWN  WRITING. 

Saturday. 

"  MY  LOVE,  —  I  write  in  bed,  a  few  words  only.  I 
have  received  yours  this  morning,  and  hope  for  another 
for  to-morrow.  I  have  been  ill  with  milk-fever,  but  am 
to-day  better,  and  hope  to  gain  strength  daily.  There 
is  need  of  it ;  I  am  to-day  obliged  to  send  away  Giu- 
ditta  to  Rome,  I  can  do  nothing  with  her  now.  I  am 
taking  one  [a  nurse],  who  also  has  milk,  in  case  mine 
is  not  sufficient.  The  baby  is  very  beautiful.  All  say 
so.  I  take  much  delight  in  watching  him.  He  sends 
you  a  kiss,  as  also  your  M." l 

1  Of  these  two  brief  notes,  —  the  first  dictated  to  a  scribe  and 
taken  down  by  him  more  or  less  accurately,  and  the  second  writ 
ten  in  pencil  by  herself,  —  I  give  the  Italian  originals,  kjjidly 
copied  for  me  by  Miss  Edith  Fuller,  the  niece  of  Madame  Ossoli. 

"  RIETI,  7  Settembre,  1848. 

"  CAEO  CONSORTE,  — lo  sto  bene,  molto  meglio  che  io  sperava. 
II  Bambino  anche  va  bene  ma  piauge  molto  ancora,  e  spero  che 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.    255 


FROM  OSSOLI. 

"ROME,  Uth  September,  1848. 

"  MIA  CARA,  —  This  morning  I  received  your  dear 
letter,  and  am  always  more  comforted  in  hearing  of  the 
good  condition  of  our  dear  baby,  and  likewise  of  yours. 
I  have  also  great  pleasure  in  hearing  that  he  is  so  beau 
tiful,  our  child.  How  much  I  wish  to  see  him,  the  time 
seems  very  long  to  me,  which  must  yet  be  passed. 
Meanwhile  give  him  a  kiss  and  a  tender  embrace  from 
me." 

FROM   MADAME  OSSOLI. 

"  Friday,  15th  September  [18481. 

"  Mio  CARO,  —  I  received  this  morning  your  dear  let 
ters,  and  the  papers.    The  news  from  Milan  seems  to  be 
too  good  to  be  true,  but  I  wait  with  anxiety  to  hear  more. 
"  When  you  do  not  hear  from  me  do  not  be  anxious  ; 

sara  piu  tranquillo  quando  tu  vieni.  Per  altro  voglio  che  per  me 
sei  tranquillo,  e  ti  daro  spesso  mie  nuove,  scrivendoti  di  nuovo  ben 
presto.  La  mia  lettera  che  hai  per  Parigi  potrai  affrancarla  alia 
Posta. 

"  Tutti  di  questa  famiglia  dove  io  mi  trovo  ti  salutano.  Dan- 
,doti  un  abbraccio,  ed  un  bagio  in  questo  caro  Pupo  che  ho  nelle 
braccia  sono.  Vra  affma 

"  MARGHERITA." 

"  Sabato. 

"  Mio  BENE,  —  Scrivo  nel  letto  alcune  parole  solamente.  Ri- 
cevo  tuo  questa  mattina,  e  spero  altro  per  domani.  Son  stata 
male  col  febbre  di  latte  ma  oggi  meglio  e  spero  tutti  i  giorni 
stare  piu  forte.  C'e  di  bisogno ;  son  d'  obbligo  oggi  inviare  Giu- 
ditta  in  Roma,  lei  non  pub  fare  niente  adesso.  Io  prendo  una 
che  ha  anche  latte  si  mio  non  basta.  II  bambino  e  molto  bello, 
tutti  dicon  cosi,  io  prendo  molto  piacere  riguardarlo.  Lui  ti  da 
un  bacio  come  anche  tua  M." 


256  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

you  know  I  must  necessarily  be  very  weak  for  some 
time  yet ;  I  am  not  always  able  to  write,  or  to  rise,  and 
Ser  Giovanni  is  not  always  here  to  write  for  me.  It 
is  a  miracle  that  I  am  as  well  as  I  find  myself ;  my 
circumstances  were  so  difficult.  Now  that  I  find  myself 
so  content  with  my  nurse,  her  child  becomes  ill ;  and 
if  she  is  forced  to  leave  me,  the  struggle  begins  again  — 
but  I  hope  not.  If  it  is  necessary  to  bear  this  too,  I 
can  only  hope  counsel  from  God." 

FROM    MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  Sunday,  17 th  September  [18481- 

"  MY  LOVE, — This  morning  I  have  nothing  from  you 
but  the  journal  of  Friday.  I  suppose  now  I  shall  have 
to  wait  till  Tuesday  to  hear  from  you.  as  no  post  comes 
to-morrow. 

"  The  nurse's  child  is  better,  and  I  feel  relieved.  We 
must  have  courage,  but  it  is  a  great  care  to  be  alone 
and  ignorant  with  an  infant  in  these  first  days  of  its 
life.  When  he  is  a  month  old,  I  shall  feel  more  quiet. 
Then  he  will  be  stronger  for  the  changes  he  will  have 
to  undergo.  Now  he  is  well,  begins  to  sleep  well,  is 
very  pretty  for  his  age,  and  all  the  people  around, 
without  knowing  what  name  I  thought  of  giving  him, 
call  him  Angiolino,  because  he  is  so  lovely.  He  has 
your  mouth,  hands,  feet.  It  seems  to  me  that  his  eyes 
will  be  blue.  For  the  rest,  he  is  altogether  a  rogue 
(birbone),  understands  well,  is  very  obstinate  to  have 
his  will. 

"  I  shall  have  much  to  say  when  you  come,  and  also 
we  shall  then  have  much  to  plan,  because  it  will  be  too 
cold  in  this  room  for  me  to  stay  here  late  in  the  an* 
tumn.  The  forty  days  will  terminate  15th  October 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.    257 

and  I  wish  to  leave  as  soon  as  possible  after  that  —  the 

20th  or  25th,  if  I  can.    Adieu,  love  ;  always  your  M." 

l 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  RIETI,  Saturday,  23d  September  [1848]. 

"  Mio  CARO, —  I  have  received  this  morning  the  pa 
pers  and  your  letter.  I  feel  the  truth  of  what  you  say, 
that  there  ought  to  be  the  greatest  care  in  the  selection 
of  a  nurse.  I  shall  wait  to  consult  with  you  about 
everything.  Consider  only,  if  the  baby  is  out  of  Rome, 
you  cannot  see  him  often.  Otherwise,  the  air  of  the 
country  would  be  better,  without  doubt,  for  his  health. 

"  He  is  so  dear,  it  seems  to  me  sometimes,  among  all 
the  difficulties  and  disasters,  that  if  he  lives,  if  he  is 
well,  he  will  become  such  a  treasure  for  us  two,  that  it 
will  compensate  for  everything.  I  wish  very  much 
that  you  should  see  him  again,  but  you  must  have  pa 
tience  with  his  frequent  cry ;  he  is  an  obstinate  fellow. 
Also,  I  hope  that  by  the  time  you  come  my  shoulder 
will  be  cured  again,  and  I  strong  enough  to  go  out  a 
little  with  you.  Now  it  is  fine  weather,  and  I  go  out 
on  the  balcony.  Ser  Giovanni  is  good  to  me,  but  his 
sisters  are  detestable,  meddling  in  everything,  and  so 
avaricious,  so  interested ;  they  would  save  me  money  in 
order  that  they  may  get  it  for  themselves.  Yet  I  try 
to  keep  the  peace  with  them  ;  there  are  bad  people 
everywhere,  and  these,  so  interested  and  vulgar,  are  at 
least  not  treacherous  like  Giuditta.  Adieu,  love. 

"  Thy  M." 

[It  illustrates  the  kind  of  people  among  whom 
Madame  Ossoli  was  at  this  time  living,  that  this 
Ser  Giovanni,  who  was  her  scribe  in  illness  and 

17 


258  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

the  one  person  who  was  "  good  "  to  her,  was  all  the 
time  amusing  himself  with  the  effort  to  seduce 
Angelo's  nurse,  who  was,  according  to  another  let 
ter,  "  the  loveliest  young  woman  in  the  village," 
and  whose  beauty  was  to  Madame  Ossoli  a  source 
of  constant  anxiety,  in  view  of  the  neighborhood 
of  Garibaldi's  half-brigand  troops,  and  those  from 
Naples  who  were  worse.  It  was  amid  such  solici 
tudes  and  vexations  that  an  inexperienced  and 
exhausted  mother  had  to  struggle  for  life  in  be 
half  of  her  baby  and  herself.] 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  RIETI,  Tuesday,  26th  September,  1848. 
..."  Now  we  begin  to  be  really  well,  my  baby  and 
I.  He  sleeps  all  night,  and  my  shoulder,  the  last  night, 
has  not  tormented  me,  so  I  have  slept  also.  He  is  al 
ways  so  charming,  how  can  I  ever,  ever  leave  him  ?  I 
wake  in  the  night,  I  look  at  him,  I  think,  ah  !  it  is  im 
possible  to  leave  him.  Adieu,  love  ;  it  seems  that  like 
me  you  are  impatient  for  your  arrival ;  then  we  can 
speak  and  again  have  a  few  happy  moments  more. 

Thy  M." 

FROM    MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  EIETI,  7th  October,  1848. 

"  Mio  CARO,  —  I  have  received  this  morning  the  pa 
per  and  your  letter.  I  am  glad  that  at  least  you  had 
a  tranquil  night  for  the  journey.  Yesterday  it  began 
again  to  rain  here.  All  that  I  have  said  to  Ser  Gio 
vanni  was,  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  some  friend 
for  a  godfather.  I  am  not  very  competent  to  give  ad 
vice  in  this  matter  of  baptism,  which  I  do  not  well  un« 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.    259 

derstand,  but  the  godfather  who  would  please  me  for 
the  baby  is  my  friend,  the  Pole.  He  knows  of  the  ex 
istence  of  the  child,  is  a  devout  Catholic,  is  a  distin 
guished  man,  who  could  be  an  aid  to  him  in  his  future 
life ;  and  I  wish  for  him  to  have  some  friend  in  case  of 
accident  to  us.  You  can  consider  this  unless  you  have 
some  confidential  friend  whom  you  wish  as  a  godfather, 
who  could  interest  himself  in  the  child  if  you  were 
obliged  to  leave  him. 

"  It  must  be  considered  that  your  nephew  will  know 
this  affair  at  last,  by  means  of  Catalane.  But  I  do  not 
know  your  relatives,  nor  if  you  can  confide  in  one  of 
them." 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"RiETi,  Thursday,  28tk  September,  1848. 
..."  I  have  seen  more  bad  people  this  last  year 
than  in  all  my  life  before,  and  I  fear  that  I  have  not 
yet  ended.  I  think  of  your  letter  which  came  on  Sun 
day  morning.  How  much  I  wish  to  see  you  !  The 
baby  does  not  grow  much,  but  he  is  always  so  lovely  — 
has  really  delicate  little  ways,  like  a  dancer.  For  the 
rest  I  can  speak  so  much  better  than  write,  that,  while 
awaiting  your  visit,  I  will  say  no  more  now. 

"  Your  affectionate  M." 

FROM    OSSOLI. 

"ROME,  9tk  October,  1848. 

"MiA  CARA,  —  I  have  received  this  morning  your  two 
dear  letters,  it  makes  me  very  happy  to  continue  to 
hear  from  you  often,  and  it  is  a  great  comfort  for  me 
to  hear  that  the  baby  knows  who  I  am  ;  dear  child,  how 
I  long  always  to  press  him  in  my  arms.  As  to  what  I 
said  of  a  godfather  for  our  dear  one,  it  would  please  me 


260  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLI. 

also  to  have  the  Pole,  as  he  is  a  distinguished  person ; 
but  how  to  find  him,  the  time  being  so  short  ?  Really 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do,  and  I  requested  you  to  take 
advice  of  Ser  Giovanni,  if  you  think  best ;  to  tell  him 
that  the  person  whom  we  decided  on  for  a  godfather  is 
too  far  off  for  us  to  get  him  in  season,  and  plan  to  in 
form  me  what  can  be  done.  If  not,  I  will  try  to  pro 
vide  differently  ;  as  far  as  I  see,  it  is  a  somewhat  diffi 
cult  matter.  You  say  that  you  are  surprised  the  doctor 
should  leave  Rome,  but  it  was  necessary,  since  there  are 
absolutely  no  foreigners  in  Rome. 

"  Saluting  you  dearly,  and  giving  you,  with  our  dear 
love,  a  kiss,  I  am  your  G.  A.  OSSOLI." 

FROM    MADAME    OS  SO  LI. 

"  RIETI,  15th  October,  1848. 

..."  Think  always  in  seeking  a  house  for  me,  not 
to  pledge  me  to  stay  in  Rome.  It  seems  to  me  often 
that  I  cannot  stay  long  without  seeing  the  baby.  He  is 
so  dear,  and  life  seems  to  me  so  uncertain,  I  do  not 
know  how  to  leave  my  dear  ones.  Take  the  apart 
ment  for  a  short  time.  It  is  necessary  that  I  should 
be  in  Rome  at  least  a  month,  to  write,  and  also  to  be 
near  you,  but  I  wish  to  be  free  to  return  here  if  I  feel 
too  anxious  for  him,  too  suffering.  O  love,  how  diffi 
cult  is  life !  But  you,  you  are  good ;  if  it  were  only 
possible  for  me  to  make  you  happy !  " 

FROM    OSSOLI. 

"ROME,  2\st  October,  1848. 

"  MIA  CARA,  —  I  learn  by  yours  of  the  20th  that  you 
have  received  the  ten  scudi,  and  it  makes  me  more  tran 
quil.  I  feel  also  Mogliani's  indolence  in  not  coming  to 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.    261 

inoculate  our  child  ;  but,  my  love,  I  pray  you  not  to  dis 
turb  yourself  so  much,  and  not  to  be  sad,  hoping  that 
our  dear  love  will  be  guarded  by  God,  and  will  be  free 
from  all  misfortunes.  He  will  keep  him  for  us  and 
give  us  means  to  sustain  him." 

FROM    MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  Saturday  Evening,  28th  October,  1848. 
.  .  .  "  It  rains  very  hard  every  day,  but  to-day  I  have 
been  more  quiet,  and  our  darling  has  been  so  good,  I 
have  taken  so  much  pleasure  in  being  with  him.  When 
he  smiles  in  his  sleep,  how  it  makes  my  heart  beat ! 
He  has  grown  fat  and  very  fair,  and  begins  to  play  and 
spring.  You  will  have  much  pleasure  in  seeing  him 
again.  He  sends  you  many  kisses.  He  bends  his  head 
toward  me  when  he  asks  a  kiss." 

FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI,  AFTER    BEING   IN    ROME. 

"  RIETI,  22d  December,  1848. 

"  MY  LOVE,  —  I  made  the  journey  comfortably,  and 
arrived  here  at  half-past  four.  I  find  our  darling  little 
changed,  —  much  less  than  I  expected.  What  surprises 
me  is,  that  he  appears  fat  enough,  seems  to  be  perfectly 
well,  but  is  not  much  larger  than  when  I  left  him.  He 
has  the  same  ways,  is  very  graceful,  but  otherwise  he  is 
better  than  with  me,  sleeps  well  at  night,  rarely  cries, 
and  then  not  so  violently.  He  is  diverted  in  this  family, 
seeing  so  many  persons,  and  all  play  with  him  and  seem 
to  wish  him  well.  The  house  is  dreadful,  the  wind  com 
ing  in  on  all  sides,  but  he  does  not  seem  to  take  cold, 
and  I  hope  that  he  will  be  stronger  for  being  exposed 
so  much  in  his  first  months.  He  has  had  the  small-pox 
terribly  ;  his  head,  his  body  have  been  covered  with 


262  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

spots ;  it  is  wholly  by  the  favor  of  Heaven  that  he  has 
passed  through  it  so  well.  The  physician,  Mogliani, 
never  came  to  visit  him ;  his  family  say  that  I  am  avari 
cious.  I  suppose  he  thought  it  not  worth  the  trouble 
to  save  our  baby.  His  face  is  not  injured.  They  have 
not  changed  the  house  yet,  and  I  do  not  know  if  they 
will.  They  talk,  in  this  house,  of  receiving  ten  scudi  a 
month  for  one  room.  These  Bietines  are  all  alike.  If 
I  can  do  it  without  injury  to  my  health,  I  shall  remain 
here.  I  have  received  nothing  from  you  this  morning, 
and  the  family  here  had  not  received  on  Wednesday  the 
letter  which  was  put  in  the  post  the  Saturday  before. 
My  letters  never  failed  so  before.  I  suppose  it  is  the 
fault  of  the  post.  I  shall  write  every  post-day. 

"  The  baby  salutes  you  with  many  kisses.  He  seemed 
to  recollect  me ;  when  I  took  him,  he  rested  his  dear  head 
so  long  on  my  shoulder.  I  took  so  much  pleasure  in 
sleeping  with  him  last  night.  In  the  daytime  it  does 
not  go  on  so  well,  it  is  smoky  and  cold.  Farewell,  my 
beloved,  I  will  write  a  few  lines  on  Sunday ;  all  the  de 
tails  I  will  tell  you  when  I  come.  Always  thy  M." 

FROM    MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"  RIETI,  27th  March,  1849. 

"  Mio  CARO,  — I  found  our  treasure  in  the  best  health, 
and  now  so  good  !  He  goes  to  sleep  all  alone  in  bed, 
day  or  night.  He  is  asleep  now,  sucking  his  little  hand. 
He  is  very  fat,  but  strangely  small,  his  hair  does  not 
grow  at  all,  and  he  still  wears  those  horrid  black  caps. 

"  At  first  all  talked  so  loud,  he  looked  at  me  all  sur 
prised,  and  cried  a  little.  But  when  he  was  alone  with 
me,  he  seemed  to  recollect  me,  and  leaned  and  rubbed 
his  forehead  as  in  the  first  days." 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND   WIFE.    263 


FROM   MADAME    OSSOLI. 

"RiETi,  30th  March,  1849. 

.  .  .  "Yesterday  the  family  were  at  dinner  below, 
and  our  darling  asleep  above  in  bed.  I  was  sitting  at 
his  side  thinking  how  dear  he  was.  Since  I  have 
bathed  him  and  dressed  him  well,  he  has  seemed  like 
another  child.  Suddenly  I  heard  tables  and  seats  fall 
ing  and  the  women  screaming  terribly,  *  Help  ! '  I  flew 
down,  and  there  stood  Niccola  and  Pietro  [two  broth 
ers]  trying  to  kill  one  another.  I  spoke  to  Niccola,  he 
did  not  answer,  but  looked  at  me  like  a  wild  beast.  The 
women  held  his  arm  so  that  he  could  not  draw  his  knife ; 
he  seized  their  hair.  Pietro,  who  had  no  knife,  threw 
W0od  —  a  great  piece  just  missed  my  head.  All  the 
neighbors  ran  in  directly.  The  landlord  of  Niccola  took 
away  his  knife,  but  if  our  baby  had  been  below,  he 
would  probably  have  been  killed.  I  am  convinced  that 
Niccola  is  a  drunkard.  I  cannot  tell  you  particulars  in 
writing,  but  I  want  to  see  you." 

FROM   THE    SAME. BOTH    IN   ROME. 

"  CASA  DIES,  Friday,  4th  May,  2  p.  M. 
"  Mio  CARO,  —  I  am  going  out  at  four,  and  return  at 
six,  and  shall  be  here  an  hour.  At  half-past  seven  I  go 
to  the  hospitals,  and  hope  to  return  at  nine.  If  you 
come  while  I  am  gone  out,  wait  for  me,  if  possible,  if 
not.  come  up  and  leave  a  word  to  say  when  you  can 
come  to-morrow  morning.  Do  not  fail  to  see  me,  I 
pray ;  it  is  terrible  to  pass  so  many  uncertain  hours 
without  meeting.  It  is  said  that  the  Neapolitans  do 
not  advance,  but  all  seems  so  uncertain.  Always,  al 
ways  your  M .  If  ever  you  have  need,  send  some 

one  immediately,  dearest ;  we  can  pay  for  this." 


264       MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 


FROM  THE  SAME. 

"Monday,  June  5th  [1849]. 

"  Mio  CARD,  —  This  morning  I  went  to  the  garden  of 
the  Vatican  at  half-past  eight ;  they  sought  you  and  said 
when  they  returned  that  you  had  gone  out.  I  returned 
immediately  home ;  but  as  you  have  not  been  here,  I 
think  it  was  a  mistake.  This  evening  I  hope  to  be  in 
the  house  at  eight ;  if  you  come  first,  wait,  I  beg  of  you. 
Thank  God  that  you  are  yet  living.  How  much  1  suf 
fered  yesterday  you  can  believe.  Till  we  meet  again, 
caro  consorte,  as  that  wicked  Ser  Giovanni  always  wrote. 
I  go  out,  because  I  ought  to  go  to  the  hospitals." 

FROM    THE    SAME.  NO    DATE. 

"  How  hard  it  was  for  me,  love,  to  miss  you  yester 
day,  and  possibly  also  to-day,  if  you  can  come.  I  am 
going  to  Casa  Dies ;  if  possible,  inquire  there,  the  last 
floor,  if  I  am  still  there  or  have  gone  to  the  hospitals. 
God  keep  you  !  How  much  I  have  suffered  in  seeing 
the  wounded,  and  I  cannot  know  if  anything  should 
happen  to  you  —  but  I  must  hope.  I  have  received  the 
letter  from  Rieti;  our  Nino  is  perfectly  well,  thanks 
for  this.  It  does  me  good  that  the  Romans  have  at 
least  done  something,  if  only  you  can  remain.  In  event 
of  the  death  of  both,  I  have  left  a  paper  with  a  certifi 
cate  in  regard  to  Angelino,  and  some  lines  praying  tho 
Story s  to  take  care  of  him.  If  by  any  accident  /  die. 
you  can  revoke  this  paper  if  you  will,  from  me,  as  being 
your  wife.  I  have  wished  Nino  to  go  to  America,  but 
you  will  do  as  seems  best  to  you.  We  ought  to  have 
planned  this  better,  but  I  hope  that  it  will  not  be 
needed.  Always,  with  benedictions,  your 

"  MARCH  ERITA. 


LETTERS  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.    265 

"  If  you  live,  and  I  die,  be  always  most  devoted  to 
Nino.  If  you  ever  love  another,  think  first  for  him,  I 
pray,  pray,  love." 

This  last  imploring  caution  was  never  needed. 


XVII. 

CLOSING  SCENES. 

ALTHOUGH  Mrs.  Story  once  read  the  certificate 
of  the  marriage  of  her  friends,  and  had  it  long  in 
her  possession,  she  did  not  fix  the  date  of  it  in 
her  memory,  and  this  will  probably  remain  forever 
unknown.  Their  child  was  born  September  5, 
1848 ;  and  the  mother  was  compelled,  in  order  to 
disarm  suspicion  and  to  earn  money,  to  be  alter 
nately  at  Rieti  and  in  Rome.  Finally  she  was 
unable  to  leave  Rome,  because  of  the  siege ;  and 
after  returning  to  Rieti,  she  wrote  this  letter  to 
Mr.  Cass,  in  which  she  has  made  an  evident  effort 
to  describe  what  is  around  her,  and  not  to  dwell 
on  her  own  great  anxieties. 

"  RIETI,  \9thJuly,  1849. 

"  DEAR  MR.  CASS,  —  I  seem  to  have  arrived  in  a 
different  world,  since  passing  the  mountains.  This  lit 
tle  red-brown  nest,  which  those  we  call  the  aborigines  of 
Italy  made  long  before  Rome  was,  lies  tranquil  amid  the^ 
net-work  of  vineyards,  its  casinos  and  convents  gleam 
pleasantly  from  the  hillsides,  the  dirt  accumulates  un 
disturbed  in  its  streets,  and  pigs  and  children  wallow  in 
it,  while  Madonna-veiled,  bare-legged  women  twirl  the 
distaff  at  every  door  and  window,  happy,  if  so  they  can 


CLOSING  SCENES.  267 

earn  five  cents  a  day.  We  have  not  been  able  to  find 
an  apartment,  so  we  have  rooms  at  the  rustic  locanda, 
which  is  on  the  piazza,  clean  and  airy,  and  where  may 
be  studied  all  the  humors  of  the  place.  There  is  the 
fountain  where  come  the  girls  in  their  corset,  long  shift- 
sleeves,  and  colored  petticoat,  the  silver  needle  in  their 
fine  hair ;  attractive  they  look  from  my  window,  for  the 
dirt  disappears  in  distance.  Near,  it  not  dismays  their 
lovers,  who  help  them  to  adjust  the  water- vase  on  their 
heads  (N.  B.  no  husband  does  this).  All  the  dandies 
of  Rieti  in  all  kinds  of  queer  uniforms  are  congregated 
below ;  at  the  barber's,  the  druggist's,  the  caffe,  they  sit 
and  digest  the  copious  slander,  chief  product  of  this,  as  of 
every  little  hive  of  men.  The  baronesses  and  countesses, 
in  the  extreme  of  Italian  undress,  are  peeping  through 
the  blinds  ;  at  half-past  seven,  if  the  band  plays,  they 
will  put  on  their  best  dresses  (alas !  mongrel  French 
fashions  prevail  here),  and  parade,  fanning  themselves 
whether  the  weather  be  hot  or  cold,  on  foot,  for  the 
Corso  of  Rieti  is  nominal.  At  present  the  scene  is 
varied  by  presence  of  the  Spanish  force,  who  promise 
to  stay  only  three  days  ;  and  I  hope  they  will  not,  for 
they  eat  everything  up  like  locusts.  For  the  moment, 
it  pleases  to  see  their  foreign  features,  and  hear  the 
noble  sounds  of  their1  language.  We  have  performed 
our  social  duties  ;  have  called  on  the  handsome  doctor's 

wife,  whom  we  found  ironing  in  her  antechamber  ; , 

the  Gonfaloniere's  sister,  who  had  just  had  a  child,  and 
received  us  in  her  chamber  ;  and  on  the  father,  guardian 
of  the  beautifully  placed  monastery  of  St.  Antonio,  who 
insisted  on  making  us  excellent  coffee,  which  we  must 
take  under  the  shade  of  the  magnificent  cypresses,  for 
women  must  not  enter,  '  only/  said  he  chuckling,  *  Gar- 


268  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLf. 

• 

ibaldi  obliged  us  to  let  his  enter,  and  I  have  even  seen 
them  braiding  their  hair/  Maria  of  the  episcopal  gar 
den  has  left  her  card  in  the  form  of  a  pair  of  pigeons. 
I  could  find  much  repose  for  the  moment  in  these  sim 
ple  traits  of  a  limited  life,  and  in  this  pure  air,  were  it 
not  for  the  state  in  which  I  find  my  baby.  You  know, 
my  dear  Mr.  Cass,  I  flattered  you  with  the  thought  you 
would  be  happy  in  having  a  child ;  may  you  never  know 
such  a  pang  as  I  felt  in  kissing  his  poor,  pale  little  hand 
which  he  can  hardly  lift.  He  is  worn  to  a  skeleton,  all 
his  sweet  childish  graces  fled ;  he  is  so  weak  it  seems  to  me 
he  can  scarcely  ever  revive  to  health.  If  he  cannot,  I  do 
not  wish  him  to  live ;  life  is  hard  enough  for  the  strong, 
it  is  too  much  for  the  feeble.  Only,  if  he  dies,  I  hope 
I  shall,  too.  I  was  too  fatigued  before,  and  this  last 
shipwreck  of  hopes  would  be  more  than  I  could  bear. 
Adieu,  dear  Mr.  Cass,  write  when  you  can  ;  tell  me  of 
the  world,  of  which  I  hear  nothing  here,  of  suffering 
Rome  —  always  dear,  whatever  may  oppress  me  —  and 
of  yourself.  Ever  yours,  M.  O."  l 

I  add  one  more  extract  from  a  letter,  without 
date,  but  of  the  same  period,  from  Madame  Ossoli 
to  Mrs.  Story  :  — 

..."  You  say  no  secret  can  be  kept  in  the  civilized 
world,  and  I  suppose  not  long.  But  it  is  very  impor 
tant  to  me  to  keep  this  for  the  present,  if  possible,  and 
by  and  by  to  have  the  mode  of  disclosure  at  my  option. 
For  this  I  have  made  the  cruelest  sacrifices.  It  will, 
indeed,  be  just  like  the  rest,  if  they  are  made  of  none 
effect. 
.  "  After  I  wrote  to  you  I  went  to  Rieti.  The  weather 

i  MS. 


CLOSING  SCENES.  269 

was  mild  when  I  set  out,  but  by  the  fatality  that  has 
attended  me  throughout,  in  the  night  changed  to  a  cold 
unknown  in  Italy,  and  remained  so  all  the  time  I  stayed. 
There  was,  as  is  common  in  Italy,  no  fireplace  except 
in  the  kitchen.  I  suffered  much  in  my  room  with  its 
brick  floor,  and  windows  through  which  came  the  cold 
wind  freely.  My  darling  did  not  suffer,  because  he  was 
robed  in  wool.  When  I  first  took  him  in  my  arms,  he 
made  no  sound,  but  leaned  his  head  against  my  bosom, 
and  stayed  so.  He  seemed  to  say,  how  could  you  aban 
don  me.  They  told  me  that  all  the  day  of  my  departure 
he  could  not  be  comforted,  always  looking  toward  the 
door.  He  has  been  a  strangely  precocious  infant.  I 
think  it  was  through  sympathy  with  me ;  and  that  in  that 
regard  it  may  be  a  happiness  for  him  to  be  with  these 
more  plebeian,  instinctive  joyous  natures.  I  saw  that  he 
was  more  serene,  that  he  was  not  sensitive  as  when  with 
me,  and  slept  a  great  deal  more. 

*'  You  speak  of  my  being  happy.  All  the  solid  hap 
piness  I  have  known  has  been  at  times  when  he  went 

to  sleep  in  my  arms.  You  say  when 's  beautiful 

life  had  been  so  wasted,  it  hardly  seemed  worth  while  to 
begin  another.  I  had  all  those  feelings  too ;  I  do  not 
look  forward  to  his  career  and  his  manly  life,  it  is  now 
I  want  to  be  with  him,  before  passion,  care,  and  baf- 
flings  begin.  If  I  had  a  little  money  I  should  go  with 
him  into  strict  retirement  for  a  year  or  two,  and  live  for 
him  alone.  This  I  cannot  do  ;  all  life  that  has  been  or 
could  be  natural  to  me  is  invariably  denied.  God  knows 
why,  I  suppose. 

"  I  receive  with  prof6und  gratitude  your  thought  of 
taking  him,  if  anything  should  happen  to  us.  Should  I 
live,  I  don't  know  whether  I  should  wish  him  to  be  an 


270  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

* 

Italian  or  American  citizen.     It  depends  on  the  course 
events  take  here  politically."  l 

And  now  the  pen  that  had  so  often  described 
the  beauties  of  nature  or  art  or  literature  is  used 
again  and  again  to  portray  the  charming  gambols 
of  a  little  child.  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  passage 
only  partially  printed  in  the  "  Memoirs,"  while  I 
give  it  in  full ;  or  it  may  be  that  this  is  a  compan 
ion-picture  sent  to  another  person  at  about  the 
same  time,  and  using  many  of  the  same  words  :  — 

"  When  our  little  boy  wakes,  he  always  beckons  and 
cries  to  come  into  our  room.  He  draws  the  curtains 
himself  with  his  little  dimpled  hand ;  he  laughs,  he 
crows,  he  dances  in  the  nurse's  arms,  he  shows  his  teeth, 
he  blows  like  the  bellows,  pretends  to  snuff  candles,  and 
then,  having  shown  off  all  his  accomplishments,  calls 
for  his  playthings.  With  these  he  will  amuse  himself  on 
the  floor  while  we  are  dressing,  sometimes  an  hour  after. 
Then  he  goes  to  the  window  to  hear  the  Austrian  drums, 
to  which  he  keeps  time,  with  head  and  hand.  It  is  soon 
eleven,  and  he  sleeps  again.  Then  I  employ  myself. 
When  he  wakes,  we  go  out  to  some  church,  or  picture- 
gallery  or  museum,  almost  always  taking  him."  2 

This  was  written  in  Florence,  where  they  took 
up  their  residence  after  the  entrance  of  the  French 
army  into  Rome.  She  busied  herself  with  her 
history  of  the  Italian  struggle,  and  he  with  efforts 
to  rescue  his  share  of  his  father's  estate.  Another 
picture  of  child-life  records  their  very  last  Christ 
mas  Day  :  — 

1  MS.  2  MS.     Compare  Memoirs,  ii.  307. 


CLOSING  SCENES.  271 

"Christinas  Day  I  was  just  up,  and  Nino  all  nake(* 
on  his  sofa,  when  came  some  beautiful  large  toys  that 
had  been  sent  him  :  a  bird,  a  horse,  a  cat,  that  could  be 
moved  to  express  different  things.  It  almost  made  me 
cry  to  see  the  kind  of  fearful  rapture  with  which  he  re 
garded  them,  —  legs  and  arms  extended,  fingers  and  toes 
quivering,  mouth  made  up  to  a  little  round  O,  eyes  di 
lated  ;  for  a  long  time  he  did  not  even  wish  to  touch 
them ;  after  he  began  to,  he  was  different  with  all  the 
three,  loving  the  bird,  very  wild  and  shouting  with  the 
horse ;  with  the  cat,  putting  her  face  close  to  his,  star 
ing  in  her  eyes,  and  then  throwing  her  away.  After 
wards  I  drew  him  in  a  lottery,  at  a  child's  party  given 
by  Mrs.  Greenough,  a  toy  of  a  child  asleep  on  the  neck 
of  a  tiger ;  the  tiger  is  stretching  up  to  look  at  the 
child.  This  he  likes  best  of  any  of  his  toys.  It  is 
sweet  to  see  him  when  he  gets  used  to  them,  and  plays 
by  himself,  whispering  to  them,  seeming  to  contrive  sto 
ries.  You  would  laugh  to  know  how  much  remorse  I 
feel  that  I  never  gave  children  more  toys  in  the  course 
of  my  life.  I  regret  all  the  money  I  ever  spent  on  my 
self  or  in  little  presents  for  grown  people,  hardened  sin 
ners.  I  did  not  know  what  pure  delight  could  be  be 
stowed.  I  am  sure  if  Jesus  Christ  had  given,  it  would 
not  have  been  little  crosses. 

"  There  is  snow  all  over  Florence,  in  our  most  beau 
tiful  piazza.  Santa  Maria  Novella,  with  its  fair  loggia 
and  bridal  church,  is  a  carpet  of  snow,  and  the  full 
moon  looking  down.  I  had  forgotten  how  angelical  all 
that  is  ;  how  fit  to  die  by.  I  have  only  seen  snow  in 
mountain  patches  for  so  long.  Here  it  is  the  even  holy 
shroud  of  a  desired  power.  God  bless  all  good  and  bad 
to-night,  and  save  me  from  despair."  l 

i  MS. 


272  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

It  is  evident  from  the  closing  words  of  this  and 
many  other  letters  that  a  sense  of  foreboding  was 
always  upon  her.  In  the  midst  of  revolution,  war, 
and  death  ;  seeing  constantly  the  separation  of 
families,  the  ruin  of  households ;  her  whole  soul 
clung  with  even  more  than  a  mother's  usual  yearn 
ing  to  the  actual  presence  of  her  boy.  In  inter 
preting  the  last  tragic  moment  of  her  life,  this 
must  always  be  borne  in  mind.  She  writes  to 
an  American  friend  in  Italy :  "I  have  never  an 
swered  what  you  said  of  the  loss  of  Maria  L.'s 
[Lowell's]  child.  These  things  make  me  tremble 
with  selfish  sympathy.  I  could  not,  I  think,  sur 
vive  the  loss  of  my  child  ;  I  wonder  daily  how  it 
can  be  done."  How  fine  and  penetrating  is  that 
phrase,  "  selfish  sympathy."  No  other  two  words 
ever  expressed  the  precise  emotion  she  describes, 
and  no  one  ever  felt  that  emotion  more  absorb 
ingly  than  she.  It  is  something,  that  the  one  dan 
ger  she  dreaded  was  the  one  calamity  from  which 
she  was  to  be  spared. 

After  the  brief  vision  of  a  Roman  republic  had 
passed  away,  it  seemed  best  for  the  Ossolis  to 
leave  Italy  for  America.  Apart  from  the  trifle 
that  Ossoli  had  been  able  to  secure  of  his  own 
property,  their  main  dependence  mast  be  on  her 
pen.  Her  book  on  the  Roman  republic  was  ready 
for  publication,  and  she  believed  that  she  could 
make  better  terms  for  it,  if  once  in  America,  than 
the  offers  which  she  had  received  by  mail.  She 
thus  writes :  — 


CLOSING  SCENES.  273 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  publish  till  I  can  be  there  [in 
America]  in  person.  I  had  first  meant  to  [publish]  in 
England  ;  but  you  know  this  new  regulation  that  a  for 
eigner  cannot  hold  copyright  there.  I  think  if  I  pub 
lish  in  the  United  States  I  should  be  there  to  correct 
the  proofs,  see  about  the  form  of  the  work  and  altera 
tions  in  MS. ;  also  I  hope  on  the  spot  I  may  make  bet 
ter  terms  than  are  offered  by  letter."  1 

This  was  soon  so  plain  that  nothing  stood  in 
the  way  but  the  obstacles  which  she  thus  reported 
to  her  brother  :  — 

"  FLORENCE,  24th  February,  1850. 

..."  I  hoped  by  this  time  to  say  decisively  when  I 
[shall]  come  home,  but  do  not  yet  know,  we  not  being 
sure  yet  we  can  get  the  money.  The  voyage,  made  in 
the  cheapest  way  we  can,  must  cost  us  about  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars,  as,  even  if  we  have  the  length  and 
discomforts  of  voyage  by  a  merchantman,  and  go  with 
out  any  help  for  care  of  the  baby  in  case  of  being  sick, 
we  must  still  buy  stores,  and  have  a  cow  or  goat  to  in 
sure  him  proper  food.  We  may  have  in  this  way  two 
months  on  the  ocean.  I  have  always  suffered  much  in 
my  head  at  sea.  However,  to  go  by  France  would  be 
more  than  double  the  expense.  Happy  the  fowls  of  the 
air,  who  don't  have  to  think  so  much  about  these  things. 
I  hope  by  hook  (we  shan't  try  by  crook)  to  get  the 
means  and  come  somehow."  2 

There  were  thus  some  actual  difficulties  in  the 
way,  and  there  was,  besides,  an  obstacle  of  fore 
boding.  It  is  common  for  those  who  are  under 
taking  an  important  step  in  their  lives,  especially 

1  MS.  2  MS. 

18 


274  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

if  it  involves  a  voyage  or  a  long  journey,  to  be 
haunted  by  some  vague  premonition  of  coming 
evil.  If  all  goes  well,  they  afterwards  laugh  and 
forget  the  foreboding  ;  if  evil  comes,  they  or  their 
friends  remember  it  forever.  This  is,  at  any  rate, 
the  commonest  and  easiest  explanation  of  such 
emotions,  but  if  ever  there  was  a  case  where  the 
solicitude  seemed  to  amount  to  a  prediction,  it  was 
in  regard  to  the  voyage  of  the  Ossolis.  Italians 
are  apt  to  dread  the  sea,  and  Ossoli  had  been  cau 
tioned  to  beware  of  it  by  one  who  had  told  his  for 
tune  when  a  boy.  His  wife,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  cherished  a  superstition  that  the  year  1850, 
probably  as  being  the  middle  of  the  century, 
would  be  a  marked  epoch  in  her  life.  But  there 
were  more  definite  omens  and  warnings,  or  what 
passed  for  such.  On  April  6  Madame  Ossoli 
wrote  to  her  friend,  the  Marchioness  Visconti 
Arconati :  — 

"  I  am  absurdly  fearful  about  this  voyage.  Various 
little  omens  have  combined  to  give  me  a  dark  feeling. 
Among  others,  just  now  we  hear  of  the  wreck  of  the 
Westmoreland  bearing  Powers'  *  Eve.'  Perhaps  we 
shall  live  to  laugh  at  these.  But  in  case  of  mishap  I 
should  perish  with  my  husband  and  child,  perhaps  to  be 
transferred  to  some  happier  state."  * 

Again  she  wrote  to  Madame  Arconati  (April 
21,  1850):  — 

"  It  was  an  odd  combination.     I  had  intended,  if  I 
went  by  way  of  France,  to  take  the  packet  ship  Arga 
1  MS. 


CLOSING  SCENES.  275 

from  Havre  ;  I  had  just  written  to  Mrs.  Story  that  I 
should  not  do  so ;  and  at  the  same  time  requested  her 
to  find  Miss  Fitton,  who  had  my  muff,  etc.  ;  having 
closed  the  letter,  I  took  up  *  Galignani,'  and  my  eye  fell 
on  these  words,  — '  Died,  4th  April,  at  No.  10  Rue  Ville 
I'l£v6que,  Miss  E.  Fitton.'  Turning  the  leaf,  I  read  of 
the  wreck  of  the  Argo  returning  from  America  to 
France.  There  were  also  notices  of  the  wreck  of 
the  Royal  Adelaide,  a  fine  English  steamer,  and  of  the 
John  Skiddy,  one  of  the  fine  American  packets.  Thus, 
as  it  seems,  safety  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  wisest  cal 
culation.  I  shall  embark  more  composedly  in  my  mer 
chant  ship ;  praying,  indeed,  fervently,  that  it  may 
not  be  my  lot  to  lose  my  babe  at  sea,  either  by  un- 
solaced  sickness,  or  amid  the  howling  waves.  Or,  that 
if  I  should,  it  may  be  brief  anguish,  and  Ossoli,  he  and 
I  go  together.  Pray  with  me,  dear  friend,  as  yours 
ever,  forever,  MARGARET."  l 

It  seemed  best,  finally,  to  take  passage  on  the 
Elizabeth,  a  merchant  vessel  that  was  to  sail  from 
Leghorn.  This  was  a  new  vessel,  and  Madame 
Ossoli  took  the  precaution  of  going  with  her 
friend,  Mrs.  Mozier,  to  see  it;  they  were  much 
pleased  with  Captain  Hasty  and  his  wife,  who 
came  to  Florence  and  spent  a  few  days,  as  visitors, 
with  Mrs.  Mozier.  Yet  at  the  very  last  moment 
the  feeling  of  foreboding  recurred,  and  it  was  dif 
ficult  for  Madame  Ossoli  to  force  herself  on  board. 
Still,  she  went ;  they  sailed  May  17,  1850,  the 
only  other  passengers  being  Horace  Sumner,  of 
Boston,  —  a  younger  brother  of  Charles  Sumner, 
IMS. 


276  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

—  and  a  young  Italian  girl,  Celeste  Paolini.  Mis. 
fortune  soon  began  ;  Captain  Hasty  sickened  and 
died  of  malignant  small-pox,  and  was  buried 
beneath  the  waves  in  the  harbor  of  Gibraltar. 
There  they  were  detained  a  week  by  adverse 
winds,  setting  sail  again  June  9.  Two  days  af 
ter,  little  Angelo  was  also  attacked  with  small 
pox,  and  was  restored  with  difficulty.  At  noon 
of  July  18  they  were  off  the  coast  of  New  Jersey ; 
the  weather  was  thick,  the  officer  in  command 
steered  east-north-east,  hoping,  with  the  southeast 
wind  that  was  blowing,  to  be  next  morning  in  a 
position  to  take  a  pilot  and  run  before  the  wind 
past  Sandy  Hook.  So  sure  was  he,  that  they 
packed  their  trunks  for  landing.  By  nine  P.  M. 
there  was  a  gale,  by  midnight  a  hurricane ;  but 
the  commander  kept  the  vessel  close-reefed,  on 
her  fatal  course,  till  at  four  o'clock  on  the  morn 
ing  of  July  19  she  struck  on  that  fatal  Fire  Island 
beach  which  has  engulfed  so  many. 

The  story  of  that  shipwreck  has  been  told  again 
and  again ;  nor  is  it  possible  now  to  obtain  much 
new  material  to  remould  the  description.  But  to 
one  point  it  is  right  to  call  attention  ;  the  too  hasty 
assumption  drawn  from  time  to  time,  in  the  suc 
cessive  reproductions  of  the  story,  that  Madame 
Ossoli  sacrificed  the  lives  of  the  party  by  her  per 
sistent  refusal  to  be  separated  from  husband  and 
child.  Had  she  done  so,  I  know  no  one  who  could 
justly  condemn  her ;  it  was  within  her  right  and 
her  husband's  to  elect  whether  they  and  their  boy 


CLOSING  SCENES.  277 

should  cling  together  or  be  separated ;  and  we 
know  that  all  her  prayer  before  setting  sail  was 
that  there  might  be  no  division  of  the  tie  gained 
so  late  and  so  hardly  won.  But  when  it  comes 
to  actual  evidence  of  such  persistent  refusal,  it 
not  only  has  no  support,  but  is  directly  contrary 
to  the  final  events.  The  simple  fact  that  the  little 
Angelo  was  drowned  in  the  arms  of  the  steward  is 
sufficient  refutation  of  the  charge  that  his  mother 
refused  to  intrust  him  to  anybody  ;  and  it  remains 
only  a  question  of  judgment  whether  the  attempt 
to  save  him  should  have  been  made  sooner.  On 
that  point  almost  any  inexperienced  landsman 
might  think  that  he  could  have  bettered  the  de 
cision  of  those  on  the  wreck,  just  as  every  civilian 
sees  where  he  could  have  won  the  particular  battle 
that  Grant  lost ;  but  the  more  closely  even  a 
landsman  looks  at  the  actual  evidence,  the  less 
possible  a  revision  of  judgment  becomes. 

Upon  what  rests  the  impression  that  Madame 
Ossoli  peremptorily  refused  to  risk  the  fate  of 
her  husband  or  child  apart  from  herself  ?  Mainly 
on  the  evidence  of  the  commanding  officer  ;  an  of 
ficer  who,  having  first  wrecked  his  ship,  and  then 
saved  his  own  life  while  leaving  all  his  passengers 
and  four  seamen  on  board,  was  under  the  strong 
est  conceivable  inducement  to  throw  all  the  blame 
possible  on  some  one  else.  Nothing  is  more  dif" 
*ficult  than  to  obtain  a  clear  account  of  the  cir 
cumstances  of  a  shipwreck,  even  by  sifting  the 
testimony  of  all  witnesses  ;  an  eminent  admiralty 


278  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

lawyer,  who  lias  spent  his  life  in  attempting  to  do 
this  in  his  successive  cases,  tells  me  that  he  has 
never  yet  thoroughly  accomplished  it.  It  is  hard 
enough  to  be  perfectly  sure  of  the  facts  in  case  of 
a  runaway  accident  which  takes  place  in  broad 
daylight  opposite  our  own  windows.  It  is  difficult 
to  this  day  to  get  a  thoroughly  correct  account  of 
the  most  insignificant  skirmish  during  our  civil 
war ;  and  of  a  wreck  that  happens  at  daybreak  in 
a  howling  storm,  on  a  lee  shore,  the  longest  cross- 
examination  of  the  survivors  hardly  avails.  In 
this  particular  case  there  are  now  no  witnesses  to 
reexamine  ;  we  only  know  that  the  acting  captain 
left  his  ship  long  before  his  passengers,  while  four 
seamen  remained.  Either  they  remained  because 
they  thought  they  would  have  personally  a  better 
chance  by  so  doing,  in  which  case  their  judgment 
may  have  been  as  good  as  his ;  or  they  remained 
because  of  a  devotion  to  their  passengers  which 
the  captain  did  not  share.  While  they  were  still 
on  the  wreck  the  case  naturally  did  not  seem 
hopeless  to  the  passengers.  There  was  the  shore 
in  sight ;  with  the  life  -  boat  which  they  might 
suppose  that  the  captain  would  get  launched  if 
nobody  else  had  ;  with  its  life-saving  mortar  for 
throwing  a  rope,  which  he  at  least  might  employ. 
There  was  the  chance  of  a  lull  in  the  storm,  dur 
ing  which  a  raft  might  be  built,  on  which  they 
might  go  together.  It  was  not  so  clear  that  the* 
only  mode  of  escape  was  to  trust  themselves  singly 
on  a  little  plank  like  that  from  which  Mrs.  Hasty, 


CLOSING  SCENES.  279 

ere  landing,  had  been  twice  washed  off.  So  at 
least  it  may  well  have  seemed  to  those  on  board. 
All  we  know  is  that  Angelo  was  in  the  steward's 
arms  to  be  taken  on  shore,  when  the  deck  was 
swept  away ;  and  that,  by  Mrs.  Hasty 's  account, 
the  sailors  "  had  just  persuaded  her  [Madame 
Ossoli]  to  trust  herself  to  a  plank,  when  the  final 
wave  broke  over  the  vessel."  x 

Two  of  the  four  sailors  reached  land  alive  ;  and 
the  still  warm  bodies  of  the  child  and  steward 
came  ashore.  This  shows  that,  even  at  the  last, 
rescue  would  not  have  been  impossible,  had  the 
life-boat  been  launched.  The  whole  case  is  prob 
ably  summed  up  in  the  remark  made  by  one  of 
the  life-boat  men  to  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Channing,  — 
from  whom  I  have  it  in  writing,  —  "  Oh  !  if  we 
had  known  there  were  any  such  persons  of  impor 
tance  on  board,  we  should  have  tried  to  do  our 
best."  It  was  natural  for  the  passengers  on  the 
wreck  to  suppose  that  the  life-boat  men  were 
there  to  do  their  best  in  any  case. 

Two  only  of  Margaret  Ossoli's  treasures  reached 
the  land,  —  the  beautiful  body  of  her  child,  and  a 
trunk  holding  the  letters  that  had  passed  between 
herself  and  her  husband.  The  body  of  little  An 
gelo  was  placed  in  a  seaman's  chest,  while  his 
rough  playmates  stood  tearfully  around,  and  was 
afterwards  buried  among  the  sand-hills ;  to  be  at 
last  disinterred  and  brought  to  Mount  Auburn 
Cemetery  by  the  relatives  who  had  never  seen 

1  At  Home  and  Abroad,  Appendix,  p.  451. 


280  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

him  in  life.  Among  the  papers  in  the  trunk  was 
found  one  memorial  which  lies  before  me  now, 
faded  and  wave-stained.  It  is  a  memorandum 
that  was  written  long  before  by  Margaret  Ossoli, 
during  one  of  her  Italian  intervals  of  separation 
from  her  child,  and  folded  round  a  lock  of  her 
husband's  hair.  The  paper  is  as  follows  :  — 

"4fA  February  [1849?]. 

"  I  saw  this  morning  a  beautiful  child  beginning  to 
walk.  He  had  only  eight  months,  yet  is  large,  fair, 
rosy,  has  sixteen  teeth.  His  mother  has  begun  to  give 
him  food  and  wants  to  wet-nurse  another  child.  Lives 
55  via  St.  Basileo.  He  had  already  plenty  of  hair. 

"  How  will  Angelino  seem  when  I  go  to  him  ?  " 

Little  could  she  have  foreseen  under  what  cir 
cumstances  of  deeper  tragedy  this  mother's  rev 
erie  would  be  read  by  strangers.  As  we  read  it, 
the  final  question  expands  to  a  vaster  significance 
than  it  first  had  ;  and  represents  the  eternal  un 
answered  longing  of  the  human  heart. 


XVIII. 

LITEEAKY  TEAITS. 

LOOKING  the  other  day  into  a  manuscript  jour 
nal  of  a  visit  to  London  in  1878,  I  came  upon  a 
description  of  a  London  dinner-party  with  this 
remark  in  regard  to  Miss  Helen  Taylor,  the 
adopted  daughter  of  Stuart  Mill :  "  She  is  the 
only  woman  I  have  happened  to  meet  in  Eng 
land  who  seems  to  associate  with  intellectual  men 
on  terms  of  equality."  This  same  remark  might 
have  been  made  by  a  traveler  in  America,  forty 
years  ago,  of  Margaret  Fuller.  And  it  must  be 
remembered  that,  whereas  the  men  who  were  her 
companions  had  almost  all  been  trained  in  the  reg 
ular  channels  of  school,  college,  and  profession,  had 
been  stimulated  by  the  hope  of  rank,  aided  by  re 
wards,  or  incited  by  professional  ambition,  she  ac 
complished  whatever  she  attained  by  sheer  zeal 
for  knowledge.  She  was  encouraged,  no  doubt,  by 
her  father,  and  helped  by  residence  in  a  college 
town  ;  but  she  was  destitute  of  most  of  the  advan 
tages  which  her  friends  enjoyed.  They  fulfilled 
their  career,  whatever  it  was,  in  the  capacity  of 
men,  and  with  men's  facilities ;  she  attained  hers, 
so  far  as  it  was  attained,  under  the  disadvantages 


282  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLl. 

of  a  woman.  In  spite  of  all  this  she  associated 
with  them  as  their  equal  at  least,  and  was  really 
for  a  time,  as  editor  of  the  "  Dial,"  their  organ 
izer  and  their  point  of  union. 

Sharing  their  advantages,  she  also  shared,  to 
some  extent,  their  drawbacks.  If  they,  with  all 
their  more  regular  training,  were  yet  apt  to  be 
discursive,  unsystematic,  with  too  much  reliance 
on  intuition  and  imagination,  —  if  that  in  short 
was  the  habit  of  the  time,  —  it  was  natural  that 
she  should  share  the  fault.  Her  defects  were 
those  of  Emerson  and  of  Thoreau ;  and  yet,  after 
her  "  Tribune "  training,  she  learned  to  shorten 
her  sword  better  than  either  of  these;  became 
more  capable  of  precise  concentration  on  a  speci 
fied  point.  It  is  also  to  be  noted  that,  unlike 
them,  she  cannot  be  judged  by  her  maturest 
work  ;  not  a  page  of  her  history  of  the  Roman 
republic  of  1848  remains ;  we  can  only  infer  what 
it  might  have  been  from  the  progress  already  seen. 

And  sharing  also  the  drawbacks,  she  also  shared 
inevitably  the  prejudices  that  her  companions  in 
spired.  These  prejudices  might  be  divided  into 
two  general  heads;  it  was  thought  that  they 
were  unintelligible  and  it  was  said  —  if  this  was 
not  indeed  the  same  allegation  —  that  they  were 
German.  It  is  now  difficult  to  recall  the  peculiar 
suspicion  that  was  attached  to  any  one  in  Amer 
ica,  forty  years  ago,  who  manifested  much  interest 
in  German  thought.  Immanuel  Kant  is  now 
claimed  as  a  corner-stone  of  religion  by  evangels 


LITERARY  TRAITS.  283 

cal  divines,  but  he  was  then  thought  to  be  more 
dangerous  than  any  French  novelist;  and  good 
Mrs.  Farrar,  as  I  have  already  indicated,  traces 
the  materialism  of  Miss  Martineau's  latter  years 
partly  to  her  early  studies  of  this  philosopher. 
"  I  have  since  thought,"  Mrs.  Farrar  writes,  "that 
her  admiration  of  the  philosophy  of  Kant  may 
have  been  one  of  her  first  steps  on  that  path 
which  has  conducted  her  to  a  disbelief  in  all  reve 
lation  and  the  immortality  of  the  soul  —  too  mel 
ancholy  a  subject  for  me  to  dwell  on  here."  l 

If  this  feeling  existed  about  Kant  it  was  still 
stronger  about  Goethe.  Even  the  genial  Long 
fellow  spoke  of  "  that  monstrous  book,  the  4  Elec 
tive  Affinities,'  "  although  this  story  was  written 
with  a  moral  purpose,  and  would  be  far  more  leni 
ently  judged  at  the  present  day.  Longfellow's 
friend  Felton  translated  Menzel's  "  German  Lit- 
ature,"  in  which  Goethe  appears  as  a  pretender 
and  quite  a  secondary  person.  Yet  Margaret 
Fuller,  who  has  been  lately  censured  by  Professor 
Harris  as  not  admiring  the  great  German  poet 
enough,  was  held  up  to  censure  in  her  day  for  ad 
miring  him  too  much.  This  ardent,  slowly-tamed, 
and  gradually-tempered  feminine  nature,  yearning 
to  be,  to  do,  and  to  suffer,  all  at  the  same  time, 
was  supposed  to  model  herself  after  the  marble 
statue,  Goethe.  The  charge  was  self-contradict 
ing  ;  and  is  worth  naming  only  as  being  a  part  of 
that  misconception  which  she,  like  all  other  would- 
be  reformers,  had  to  endure. 

1  Recollections  of  Seventy  Years,  p.  262. 


284  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

In  the  most  important  period  of  her  early  life 
she  wrote,  "As  to  Goethe  ...  I  do  not  go  to  him 
as  a  guide  or  friend,  but  as  a  great  thinker  who 
makes  me  think."  1  At  this  very  time  she  was 
planning  to  write  Goethe's  biography  and  prepar 
ing  to  translate  Eckermann's  conversations  with 
him.  In  her  correspondence,  here  and  there,  she 
doubtless  speaks  of  him  as  "the  master,"  but  the 
light  use  of  a  trivial  phrase  is  not  to  be  set  against 
her  distinct  disclaimer,  as  just  quoted.  She  was 
indeed  too  omnivorous  a  reader,  too  ardent  and 
fertile  a  thinker,  to  go  through  the  successive 
bondages  by  which  many  fine  minds  —  especially 
the  minds  of  women  —  work  their  way  to  freedom. 
Miss  Martineau,  for  instance,  with  all  her  native 
vigor,  was  always  following  with  implicit  confi 
dence  some  particular  guide  or  model ;  in  early 
life  her  brother  James,  then  Mai  thus,  then  Garri 
son,  then  Comte,  then  even  Atkinson ;  but  in 
Margaret  Fuller's  case,  though  there  were  many 
friendships,  there  was  no  personal  and  controlling 
ruler.  Emerson  came  the  nearest  to  this,  and  yet 
we  see  by  her  letters  how  frankly  she  could  criti 
cise  even  him.  Her  danger  lay  in  the  direction  of 
originality,  not  of  imitation ;  of  too  much  diver 
gence,  not  too  much  concentration.  Coming  in 
contact,  as  she  did,  with  some  of  the  strongest  men 
of  her  time  ;  first  the  Boston  Transcendentalists ; 
then  Horace  Greeley  in  New  York ;  then  Mazzini 
in  Italy :  she  was  still  her  own  mistress,  still 
1  MS.  letter :  Providence,  R.  I.,  July  3,  1837. 


LITERARY   TRAITS.  285 

lius  addicta  jurare  in  verba  magistri.  This  showed 
not  merely  a  strong  nature  —  for  strength  alone 
does  not  secure  independence  —  but  a  rich  and 
wise  one. 

In  regard  to  unintelligibleness,  she  also  shared 
the  charge  with  others ;  and  I  do  not  know  that 
she  especially  deserved  it.  She  may  be  confused, 
rambling,  sometimes  high-flown,  but  she  offers  no 
paradoxes  so  startling  as  some  of  Emerson's,  and 
is  incomparably  smoother  and  clearer  than  Al- 
cott.  Nor  is  her  obscurity  ever  wanton  or  whim 
sical,  but  is  rather  of  that  kind  which,  as  Cole 
ridge  has  said,  is  a  compliment  to  the  reader. 
Note  also  that  she  is  merciful  to  her  public,  and 
if  she  has  a  thought  with  which  she  struggles  so 
that  she  can  hardly  get  it  into  every  day  words,  it 
is  to  be  found  in  her  letters,  not  in  her  publica 
tions.  Such  a  statement  as  this,  for  instance,  she 
would  hardly  have  put  into  print ;  because  it  is 
not  worked  out  so  clearly  that  he  who  runs  may 
read.  Yet  it  is  full  of  suggestion.  She  is  speak 
ing  of  what  she  calls  "  The  Third  Thought." 

"CAMBRIDGE,  October  27,  1843. 

..."  Your  mind  has  acted  with  beneficent  force  on 
mine,  and  roused  it  now  from  a  repose  which  it  has  long 
enough  enjoyed.  Let  me  try  a  little  to  note  some  results 
of  my  reflections. 

"  The  third  thought  which  is  to  link  together  each 
conflicting  two  is  of  course  the  secret  of  the  universe. 
It  is  sought  alike  by  the  fondest  dream  of  love,  the 
purest  pain  of  thought ;  the  philosopher  exacts,  the  poet 


286  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

expects  it,  the  child  believes  it  is  already  here.  It  Is 
the  beloved  Son  in  whom  both  God  and  man  will  be 
well  pleased.  .  .  . 

"  Faith  and  hope  are  gradually  transmuted  into 
knowledge,  but  very  slowly  is  this  mass  of  matter  leav 
ened  by  the  divine  wisdom.  Yet  the  third  thought  is 
gradually  taking  possession  of  us  ;  when  we  have  at 
last  become  thoroughly  possessed  by,  we  may  in  turn 


This  statement  belongs  upon  the  same  plane 
with  that  made  by  Emerson  in  his  essay  on  the 
"  Over-Soul,"  that  "  In  all  conversation  between 
two  persons,  tacit  reference  is  made  to  a  third 
party,  to  a  common  nature  ;  "  but  Margaret  Ful 
ler's  proposition  is  a  somewhat  different  thing,  and 
is  even  more  suggestive.  Scattered  through  her 
letters  and  journals  everywhere  there  are  pas 
sages  of  which  this  is  an  example  ;  and  it  is  such 
as  these  to  which  Emerson  refers  when  he  speaks 
of  her  "lyric  glimpses."  But  in  her  published 
writings  she  rarely  attempted  more  than  she  felt 
herself  able  to  state  clearly  ;  though  her  standard 
of  clearness  was  not  just  that  which  now  prevails. 
Even  in  her  printed  essays,  however,  she  suf 
fered  from  an  exuberance  of  mental  activity, 
which  she  had  not  yet  learned  to  control.  Trained 
early  to  be  methodical  in  her  use  of  time,  she  had 
neither  the  leisure  nor  the  health  nor  perhaps  the 
impulse  to  be  methodical  in  thought.  In  that 
teeming  period  when  she  lived,  method  was  not 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 


LITERARY    TRAITS.  287 

the  strong  point,  nor  did  her  friend  Emerson  set 
her,  in  this  respect,  a  controlling  example.  The 
habit  of  conversation  was  perhaps  bad  for  her,  in 
this  way,  and  may  have  tended,  as  does  all  extern." 
poraneous  speaking,  toward  a  desultory  habit  oi 
mind.  Journalism,  which  was  her  next  resource, 
leads  in  the  same  way ;  that  is,  the  single  edito 
rial  demands  concentration,  but  two  successive 
editorials  are  rarely  linked  together,  and  still 
more  rarely  give  room  for  what  she  calls  "  the 
third  thought."  Accordingly  her  "  Tribune  "  ar 
ticles  had  more  symmetry  than  her  previous  writ 
ings,  but  it  was  symmetry  within  the  restricted 
field  of  the  newspaper  column,  which  often  un 
fits  the  best  journalist  for  a  more  sustained  flight. 
How  far  the  maturer  experience  of  Italy  may 
have  remedied  this,  in  her  case,  we  never  shall 
know,  since  her  book  was  lost  with  her ;  and  her 
record  as  a  writer  remains  therefore  unfinished. 
Still  it  is  something  to  know  that  on  the  whole 
she  tended  more  and  more  to  completeness  of 
form,  and  to  the  proper  control  of  her  own  abun 
dant  thoughts. 

The  evidence  of  this  is  not  to  be  found  in  her 
"Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  —  which, 
while  full  of  thoughts  and  suggestions,  is  yet  dis 
cursive  and  unmethodical,  —  but  in  her  u  Papers 
on  Literature  and  Art."  The  most  satisfactory  of 
these  is  the  essay  on  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  which 
Btill  seems  to  me,  as  it  has  seemed  for  many  years, 


288  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

one  of  the  very  best  critical  essays  yet  written  in 
America.  Sir  James  was  a  peculiarly  good  sub 
ject  to  test  her  powers,  because  his  temperament 
was  wholly  alien  from  hers.  He  stood  to  her  in 
a  clear  light,  as  the  man  who  by  the  consent  of 
all  contemporaries  was  best  equipped  for  great 
deeds,  yet  never  accomplished  them ;  who  must 
be  judged  by  his  results  as  against  his  promise; 
omnium  consensu  capax  imperil,  nisi  imperdsset. 
This  has  often  since  been  pointed  out,  but  no  ono 
stated  it  so  early,  or  at  least  so  clearly  as  Marga 
ret  Fuller.  I  know  nobody  else  in  American  lit 
erature  who  could  have  handled  the  theme  so 
well;  Lowell  would  not  have  done  the  work  so 
simply,  or  Whipple  so  profoundly,  while  Emer^ 
son  would  not  have  done  it  at  all.  If  any  reader 
of  this  book  wishes  to  be  satisfied  that  Margaret 
Fuller  had  her  own  place  and  a  very  high  place 
among  American  prose-writers,  they  may  turn  to 
that  essay. 

There  were  two  points  in  which  no  one  exceeded 
her  at  the  time  and  place  in  which  she  lived. 
First,  she  excelled  in  "  lyric  glimpses,"  or  the 
power  of  putting  a  high  thought  into  a  sentence. 
If  few  of  her  sentences  have  passed  into  the  com 
mon  repertory  of  quotation,  that  is  not  a  final  test. 
The  greatest  poet  is  not  necessarily  the  most 
quoted  or  quotable  poet.  Pope  fills  twenty-four 
pages  in  Bartlett's  "  Dictionary  of  Quotations," 
Moore  eight,  Burns  but  six,  Keats  but  two,  and 
the  Brownings  taken  together  less  than  half  a 


LITERARY  TRAITS.  289 

page.  The  test  of  an  author  is  not  to  be  found 
merely  in  the  number  of  his  phrases  that  pass 
current  in  the  corners  of  newspapers  —  else  would 
"  Josh  Billings  "be  at  the  head  of  literature  ;  — 
but  in  the  number  of  passages  that  have  really 
taken  root  in  younger  minds.  Tried  by  this 
standard,  Margaret  Fuller  ranks  high,  and,  if  I 
were  to  judge  strictly  by  my  own  personal  ex 
perience,  I  should  say  very  high  indeed.  I  shall 
always  be  grateful  to  the  person  who  fixed  in 
my  memory,  during  early  life,  such  sentences  as 
these  :  — 

"  Yes,  O  Goethe !  but  the  ideal  is  truer  than  the  ac 
tual.  This  changes  and  that  changes  not." 

"  Tragedy  is  always  a  mistake  ;  and  the  loneliness  of 
the  deepest  thinker,  the,  widest  lover,  ceases  to  be  pa 
thetic  to  us  so  soon  as  the  sun  is  high  enough  above  the 
mountains." 

[In  reading  fiction]  "  We  need  to  hear  the  excuses 
men  make  to  themselves  for  their  worthlessness."  [A 
better  criticism  never  was  made  on  the  current  villain 
of  the  drama  and  the  novel.] 

"  For  precocity  some  great  price  is  always  demanded 
sooner  or  later  in  life." 

"  Genius  will  live  and  thrive  without  training,  but  it 
does  not  the  less  reward  the  watering-pot  and  pruning- 
knife." 

"  A  man  who  means  to  think  and  write  a  great  deal 
must,  after  six  and  twenty,  learn  to  read  with  his  fin 
gers." 

"  Man  tells  his  aspiration  in  his  God  ;  but  in  his  de 
mon  he  shows  his  depth  of  experience  ;  and  casts  light 
19 


290  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

into  the  cavern  through  which  he  worked  his  cause  up 
to  the  cheerful  day." 

Other  such  passages  might  easily  be  added ;  in 
deed  they  are  already  to  be  found,  here  and  there, 
distributed  through  this  memoir.  And  her  criti 
cal  verdicts  are  often  condensed  into  passages  as 
compact  as  the  following  —  as  where  she  says  of 
Coleridge,  "  Give  Coleridge  a  canvas  and  he  will 
paint  a  single  mood  as  if  his  colors  were  made  of 
the  mind's  own  atoms ;  "  or  of  Southey,  "  In  his 
most  brilliant  passages  there  is  nothing  of  inspira 
tion  ; "  or  of  Shelley,  "  The  rush,  the  flow,  the  del 
icacy  of  vibration  in  Shelley's  verse  can  only  be 
paralleled  by  the  waterfall,  the  rivulet,  the  notes 
of  the  bird  and  of  the  insect  world  ;  "  or  when  she 
speaks  of  the  "  balm  "  appjied  by  Wordsworth  to 
the  public  heart  after  the  fever  of  Byron  ;  or  de 
picts  the  "  strange  bleak  fidelity  "  of  Crabbe  ;  or 
says  of  Campbell  that  he  did  not  possess  "as 
much  lyric  flow  as  force;"1  or  of  literary  phases 
and  fashions  generally,  "  There  is  no  getting  rid 
of  the  epidemic  of  the  season,  however  amazing 
and  useless  it  may  seem  ;  you  cannot  cough  down 
an  influenza,  it  will  cough  you  down ;  " 2  in  all 
these  statements  she  makes  not  merely  a  series  of 
admirable  points,  but  she  really  gives  the  con 
densed  essence  of  criticism. 

She  seems  to  me  to  have  been,  in  the  second 
place,  the  best  literary  critic  whom  America  has 

1  Papers,  etc.   p.  71,  77,  83,  93,  98. 

2  Ibid.  p.  87. 


LITERARY  TRAITS.  291 

yet  seen.  Her  friend  Ripley,  who  succeeded  her 
in  the  "  Tribune  "  and  held  such  sway  for  many 
years,  was  not,  in  the  finer  aspects  of  the  art, 
to  be  compared  with  Margaret  Fuller.  Passing 
from  her  single  phrases  and  obiter  dicta  to  her 
continuous  criticisms,  I  should  name  her  second 
paper  on  Goethe  in  the  "  Dial ;  " l  as  ranking 
next  to  that  on  Mackintosh ;  and  should  add, 
also,  her  essay  on  "  Modern  British  Poets "  in 
"Papers  on  Literature  and  Art ;"  and  the  "dia 
logue  "  between  Aglauron  and  Laurie  in  the  same 
volume.  In  this  last  there  are  criticisms  on  Words 
worth  which  go  deeper,  I  venture  to  think,  than 
anything  Lowell  has  written  on  the  same  subject. 
I  do  not  recall  any  other  critic  on  this  poet  who 
has  linked  together  the  poems  "  A  Complaint " 
and  the  sonnet  beginning 

"  There  is  a  change  and  I  am  poor," 

and  has  pointed  out  that  these  two  give  us  a 
glimpse  of  a  profounder  personal  emotion  and  a 
deeper  possibility  of  sadness  in  Wordsworth  than 
all  else  that  he  has  written  put  together.  There 
are  also  admirable  remarks  on  Coleridge  and  on 
Shakespeare ;  and  how  fine  in  thought,  how  sim 
ply  and  admirably  stated,  is  this  conclusion  :  — 

"  Were  I,  despite  the  bright  points  so  numerous  in 
their  history  and  the  admonitions  of  my  own  conscience, 
inclined  to  despise  my  fellow-men,  I  should  have  found 

1  Dial,  ii.  1  (July,  1841,  reprinted  in  Life  Without  and  Life 
Within,  p.  23). 


292  MARGARET  FULLER   OSSOLL 

abundant  argument  against  it  during  this  late  study  of 
Hamlet.  In  the  streets,  saloons,  and  lecture  rooms  we 
continually  hear  comments  so  stupid,  insolent,  and  shal 
low  on  great  and  beautiful  works,  that  we  are  tempted 
to  think  that  there  is  no  public  for  anything  that  is 
good  ;  that  a  work  of  genius  can  appeal  only  to  the 
fewest  minds  in  any  one  age,  and  that  the  reputation 
now  awarded  to  those  of  former  times  is  never  felt,  but 
only  traditional.  Of  Shakespeare,  so  vaunted  a  name, 
little  wise  or  worthy  has  been  written,  perhaps  nothing 
so  adequate  as  Coleridge's  comparison  of  him  to  the 
pine-apple ;  yet  on  reading  Hamlet,  his  greatest  work, 
we  find  there  is  not  a  pregnant  sentence,  scarce  a  word 
that  men  have  not  appreciated,  have  not  used  in  myriad 
ways.  Had  we  never  read  the  play,  we  should  find  the 
whole  of  it  from  quotation  and  illustration  as  familiar  to 
us  as  air.  The  exquisite  phraseology,  so  heavy  with 
meaning,  wrought  out  with  such  admirable  minuteness, 
has  become  a  part  of  literary  diction,  the  stock  of  the 
literary  bank  ;  and  what  set  criticism  can  tell  like  this 
fact  how  great  was  the  work,  and  that  men  were  worthy 
it  should  be  addressed  to  them  ?  " l 

In  this  conversation,  as  in  all  the  imaginary 
conversations  which  were  so  in  fashion  at  that 
period,  there  are  traces  of  Landor ;  but  Margaret 
Fuller  achieved,  both  in  "  Aglauron  and  Laurie," 
and  in  "  The  Two  Herberts,"  what  Landor  rarely 
accomplished  —  what  Lowell  could  not  achieve  in 
his  "Conversations  on  the  Dramatists,"  or  her 
other  fellow-townsman,  Story,  in  his  more  recent 
"  He  and  She,"  —  the  distinct  individualization  of 

1  Papers  on  £iterature  and  Art,  p.  173. 


LITERARY   TRAITS.  293 

the  two  participants.  Through  the  whole  dia 
logue  we  see  two  persons,  not  merely  one  person 
speaking  through  two  mouths.  For  instance,  Lau 
rie  asks  Aglauron  :  — 

"  But  have  I  not  seemed  heartless  to  you  at  times  ?  " 
and  Aglauron  replies  :  — 

"  In  the  moment,  perhaps,  but  quiet  thought  always 
showed  me  the  difference  between  heartlessness  and  the 
want  of  a  deep  heart." 

Here  we  have  not  only  an  admirable  glimpse  into 
the  recesses  of  human  character,  but  we  have  a 
sharp  demarkation  between  the  two  friends.  Here 
and  elsewhere,  the  conversation  is  a  real  inter 
change  of  thoughts  and  not  a  disguised  monologue. 

Margaret  Fuller's  career  as  a  critic  encountered, 
at  two  points,  the  sincere  opposition  and  even 
hostility  of  many  readers,  especially  in  her  own 
home ;  in  relation,  namely,  to  her  fellow-towns 
men  Longfellow  and  Lowell.  It  may  readily  be 
admitted  at  this  time  that  she  did  less  than  jus 
tice  to  them  both.  This  admitted,  the  fact  re 
mains  that  there  was  not  a  trace  of  personal  ran 
cor  or  grievance  in  either  case  ;  her  whole  career, 
indeed,  being  singularly  free  from  this  lowest  of 
literary  vices.  In  regard  to  Longfellow,  she  in 
the  first  place,  as  Horace  Greeley  tells  us,  wished 
to  be  excused  from  reviewing  him  ;  and  then 
stated  without  disguise  why  she  criticised  him  so 
frankly :  because  he  seemed  to  her  over-praised, 
and  because  she  thought  him  exotic.  This  she 


294  MARGARET  FULLER    OSSOLT. 

says  in  her  own  words  more  distinctly  than  any 
one  else  can  say  it  for  her  :  — 

"  We  must  confess  to  a  coolness  towards  Mr.  Long 
fellow,  in  consequence  of  the  exaggerated  praises  that 
have  been  bestowed  upon  him.  When  we  see  a  person 
of  moderate  powers  receive  honors  which  should  be  re 
served  for  the  highest,  we  feel  somewhat  like  assailing 
him  and  taking  from  him  the  crown  which  should  be  re 
served  for  grander  brows.  And  yet  this  is,  perhaps,  un 
generous." 

The  italics  are  my  own.  Then  she  defends 
him  from  the  special  charge  of  plagiarism,  which 
Poe  was  just  trying  to  fasten  upon  him,  and  goes 
on:  — 

"  He  has  no  style  of  his  own,  growing  out  of  his  own 
experiences  and  observations  of  nature.  Nature  with 
him,  whether  human  or  external,  is  always  seen  through 
the  windows  of  literature.  There  are  in  his  poems 
sweet  and  tender  passages  descriptive  of  his  personal 
feelings,  but  very  few  showing  him  as  an  observer,  at 
first  hand,  of  the  passions  within,  or  the  landscape  with 
out. 

"  This  want  of  the  free  breath  of  nature,  this  perpet 
ual  borrowing  of  imagery,  this  excessive,  because  super 
ficial,  culture  which  he  has  derived  from  an  acquaint 
ance  with  the  elegant  literature  of  many  nations  and 
men,  out  of  proportion  to  the  experience  of  life  within 
himself,  prevent  Mr.  Longfellow's  verses  from  ever  be 
ing  a  true  refreshment  to  ourselves.  .  .  . 

"  And  now  farewell  to  the  handsome  book,  with  its 
Preciosos  and  Preciosas,  its  vikings  and  knights  and 
cavaliers,  its  flowers  of  all  climes  and  wild  flowers  of 


LITERARY  TRAITS.  295 

none.  We  have  not  wished  to  depreciate  these  writings 
below  their  current  value,  more  than  truth  absolutely 
demands.  We  have  not  forgotten  that,  if  a  man  cannot 
himself  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  muse,  it  is  much  if  he  prizes 
those  who  may ;  it  makes  him  a  teacher  to  the  people. 
Neither  have  we  forgotten  that  Mr.  Longfellow  has  a 
genuine  respect  for  his  pen,  never  writes  carelessly,  nor 
when  he  does  not  wish  to,  nor  for  money  alone.  Nor 
are  we  intolerant  to  those  who  prize  hot-house  bouquets 
beyond  all  the  free  beauty  of  nature  ;  that  helps  the 
gardener  and  has  its  uses.  But  still  let  us  not  forget  — 
4 Excelsior'!  I"1 

This  is,  no  doubt,  overstated,  but  who  will  now 
deny  that  there  was  a  certain  force  in  it  ?  As 
Longfellow  underwent  deeper  experiences  and 
mellowed  into  his  beautiful  old  age,  this  criticism 
seemed  plainly  inadequate ;  and  Margaret  Fuller 
herself,  had  she  lived,  would  have  been  the  first  to 
recognize  the  deepening  Americanism  of  his  tone 
—  this  being  what  she  chiefly  demanded  of  him. 
The  poems  that  she  had  singled  out  for  praise  in 
his  early  volumes  were  those  like  "  The  Village 
Blacksmith"  and  "The  Driving  Cloud,"  which 
had  a  flavor  of  the  soil ;  and  as  he  grew  older, 
this  quality  became  unmistakable.  But  hers  was 
at  any  rate  legitimate  literary  criticism,  and  would 
perhaps  have  left  no  sting  behind  but  for  the  sin 
gle  fact  that  she  compared  the  weak  portrait  of 
him,  prefaced  to  the  first  illustrated  edition  of  his 
poems  (Philadelphia,  1845),  to  "a  dandy  Pindar." 

1  Papers  on  Literature  and  Art,  pp.  330-335. 


296  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Any  one  who  will  look  to-day  at  that  picture  will 
see  that  there  could  hardly  be  a  more  felicitous 
characterization  of  it  than  in  these  three  words; 
but  it  was  fancied  at  the  time,  most  gratuitously, 
that  she  meant  it  for  a  hit  at  Longfellow  himself ; 
and  hence  followed  a  very  needless  irritation,  which 
fortunately  the  amiable  poet  did  not  greatly  share. 

In  regard  to  Lowell,  the  case  was  a  little  differ 
ent,  and  her  tone  was  blunter,  though  equally  free 
from  all  personal  grudge.  She  had  welcomed 
very  cordially  his  first  volume  of  poems  in  the 
"  Dial ;  "  and  again  in  1845,  when  reviewing  his 
"  Conversations  "  in  the  "  Tribune,"  had  taken 
pains  to  do  him  justice  while  pointing  out,  as  in 
the  case  of  Longfellow,  that  she  felt  bound  to  re 
sist  a  certain  tone  of  exaggeration  in  his  admir 
ers.  She  wrote  of  him  :  — 

"  He  shows  great  justness  of  feeling,  delicacy  of  per 
ception,  comprehensive  views  ;  and,  for  this  country,  an 
unusual  refinement  and  extent  of  culture.  We  have 
been  accustomed  to  hear  Mr.  Lowell  so  extravagantly 
lauded  by  the  circle  of  his  friends,  that  we  should  be 
hopeless  of  escaping  the  wrath  of  his  admirers,  for  any 
terms  in  which  our  expressions  of  sympathy  could  be 
couched,  but  for  the  more  modest  and  dignified  tone  of 
his  own  preface,  which  presents  ground  on  which  the 
world  at  large  can  meet  him.  With  his  admirers,  we 
have  often  been  reminded  of  a  fervent  Italian  who  raved 
at  one  of  our  country-women  as  '  a  heartless  girl,'  be 
cause  she  would  not  go  to  walk  with  him  alone  at  mid 
night.  But  Mr.  Lowell  himself  speaks  of  his  work  as 
becomes  one  conversant  with  those  of  great  and  accom 
plished  minds." 


LITERARY   TRAITS.  297 

Later  in  the  same  year  (1845),  however,  in  that 
essay  on  "American  Literature  "  which  appeared 
for  the  first  time  in  her  "  Papers,"  she  wrote  the 
words  which  created  so  much  indignation,  and 
which  simply  show  that  no  critic  can  look  forward 
with  infallible  judgment  to  the  future  develop 
ment  of  a  poet.  She  wrote  of  Lowell,  as  has  al 
ready  been  said,  that  he  was  "  absolutely  wanting 
in  the  true  spirit  and  tone  of  poesy,"  adding  :  — 

"  His  interest  in  the  moral  questions  of  the  day  has 
supplied  the  want  of  vitality  in  himself;  his  great  facility 
at  versification  has  enabled  him  to  fill  the  ear  with  a 
copious  stream  of  pleasant  sound.  But  his  verse  is  ster 
eotyped  ;  his  thought  sounds  no  depth,  and  posterity  will 
not  remember  him." l 

This  last  is  very  nearly  what  Coleridge  said  of 
Scott.  He  said,  "  Not  twenty  lines  of  Scott's  po 
etry  will  ever  reach  posterity ;  it  has  relation  to 
nothing."  2  Coleridge  erred  as  to  Scott,  and  Mar 
garet  Fuller  as  to  Lowell ;  but  we  must  remember 
that  Scott's  poetry  was  all  published  when  Cole 
ridge's  criticism  was  made ;  while  Margaret  Fuller 
wrote  when  Lowell  had  printed  only  his  "  Class 
Poem  "  and  two  early  volumes  ;  the  "  Biglow  Pa 
pers  "  and  "  Sir  Launfal,"  and  all  the  works  by 
which  he  is  now  best  known  being  still  unwritten. 
It  was  simply  a  mistaken  literary  estimate,  not 
flavored  with  the  slightest  personal  sting  ;  and  it 

1  Papers  on  Literature  and  Art,  p.  308. 

2  Alsop's  Letters,  Conversations,  etc.  of  Coleridge,  Am.  ed.  p. 
116. 


298  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

would  be  hardly  possible,  in  these  milder  days,  for 
such  a  criticism  to  call  out  the  kind  of  retaliation 
that  is  to  be  found  in  the  "  Fable  for  Critics." 
But  that  was  a  period,  as  has  already  been  inti 
mated,  of  great  literary  truculence  ;  a  time  when, 
as  Heine  says  of  the  Germans,  an  author,  like  an 
African  chief,  felt  bound  to  moisten  the  base  of 
his  own  throne  with  the  blood  of  his  slain  foes. 
Lowell,  probably,  also  thought  that,  in  the  case  of 
Margaret  Fuller,  he  was  immolating  the  good-na 
tured  Longfellow's  literary  enemies  with  his  own. 


XIX. 

PERSONAL   TKAITS. 

THAT  woman  of  genius,  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman  of  Providence,  —  best  known  to  the 
world  as  having  been  the  betrothed  of  Edgar  Poe, 
—  wrote  once,  in  the  "  Providence  Journal,"  a 
description  of  a  scene  where  the  brilliant  and 
audacious  John  Neal  gave  a  parlor  lecture  on 
Phrenology,  then  at  its  high-tide  of  prominence ; 
and  illustrated  it  by  Margaret  Fuller's  head.  The 
occasion  is  thus  described  :  — 

"Among  the  topics  of  the  evening,  phrenology  was 
introduced,  and  Mr.  Neal  expressed  a  wish  to  give  what 
might  be  termed  a  topical  illustration  of  his  favorite 
theory.  Miss  Fuller  slowly  uncoiled  the  heavy  folds  of 
her  light  brown  hair  and  submitted  her  haughty  head  to 
his  sentient  fingers.  The  masterly  analysis  which  he 
made  of  her  character,  its  complexities  and  contradic 
tions,  its  heights  and  its  depths,  its  nobilities  and  its 
frailties,  was  strangely  lucid  and  impressive,  and  helped 
one  who  knew  her  well  to  a  more  tender  and  sympa 
thetic  appreciation  of  her  character  and  career,  a  charac 
ter  which  only  George  P^liot  could  have  fully  appre 
ciated  and  portrayed."  1 

1  Providence  Journal,  July  24,  1876. 


300  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

Many  men,  including  some  of  the  most  gifted  in 
our  American  community,  have  since  tried  their 
hands  on  Margaret  Fuller's  head ;  and  they  have 
given  such  varying  results  as  their  point  of  obser 
vation  might  justify.  With  ready  recognition  of 
my  own  inferiority  to  them  as  respects  personal 
knowledge,  I  find  myself,  after  long  and  patient 
study  of  her  writings,  forming  conclusions  some 
times  different  from  theirs.  I  do  not  think  that 
Mr.  Emerson,  with  his  cool  and  tranquil  tempera 
ment,  always  did  quite  justice  to  the  ardent  nature 
that  flung  itself  against  him ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  her  other  biographers  have  sometimes  been 
too  much  influenced  by  their  own  point  of  contact 
with  her  to  see  that  the  self-culture  which  brought 
her  to  them  was  by  no  means  the  whole  of  her 
aim.  Let  me,  therefore,  consider  her  character 
rather  more  minutely. 

It  is  to  be  remembered,  in  the  first  place,  that 
her  life  was  always  saddened  by  the  feeling  that 
she  had  been  defrauded  of  her  childhood  by  too 
forced  a  precocity  and  deprived  of  her  rightful 
health  through  mismanagement.  Under  this  dis 
advantage  she  led  thenceforward  a  life  of  con 
stant  checking  and  restriction,  not  as  to  pleas 
ures,  for  which  she  rarely  sighs  in  her  diaries, 
but  as  to  doing  her  appointed  work  in  the  world 
and  employing  the  talents  given  her.  Rising  in 
the  morning,  as  Emerson  says  of  all  of  us,  "  with 
an  appetite  that  could  eat  the  solar  system  like  a 
cake,"  she  soon  finds  herself  restricted  as  to  food 


PERSONAL   TRAITS.  301 

and  wholly  wanting  in  digestion.  With  the  lar 
gest  views  as  to  the  aims  and  destiny  of  her  nation, 
she  was  obliged  to  see  the  timid  and  the  pessi 
mists  work  on  while  she  was  fettered.  There  are 
many  who,  because  they  cannot  do  the  great 
things,  refuse  to  do  the  little  ones ;  she  was  ready 
to  lavish  herself  on  the  smallest ;  no  one  ever  saw 
a  more  devoted  daughter,  sister,  friend ;  and  only 
her  diary  and  a  very  few  intimates  knew  how 
much  this  cost  her  or  how  she  yearned  for  some 
thing  more.  With  inexorable  frankness  she  saw 
that  even  her  resignation  was  often  a  kind  of 
despair,  even  the  alms  she  gave  were  only  a  mis 
erable  substitute  for  the  larger  work  she  longed  to 
do ;  and  thus  much  she  often  expressed,  not  only 
to  herself  but  to  others. 

She  thought  that  we  human  beings  ought  not, 
as  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Emerson  (in  1839),  "  to  sup 
press  the  worst  or  select  the  best  of  ourselves,"  but 
to  be  "  altogether  better."  Even  her  own  good 
deeds  thoroughly  dissatisfied  her,  and  she  often 
points  out  in  her  diaries  that  what  passes  for  vir 
tue  in  her  is  only  the  resigned  acceptance  of  what 
seems  to  her  subordinate  and  unsatisfactory.  Her 
life,  so  far  from  being  selfish,  overflowed  with  con 
stant  acts  of  private  kindness ;  she  was  incessantly 
bearing  burdens  for  others,  but  she  was  haunted, 
as  many  other  strong  natures  have  been,  by  the 
spirit  of  Emerson's  couplet,  — 

"  He  who  feeds  men  serveth  few, 
He  serves  all  who  dares  be  true." 


302  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

She  demanded  to  serve  all.  When  ill-health,  do 
mestic  care,  unsatisfied  longings  after  life  and 
action  combined  to  depress  her,  she  found,  as  so 
many  others  have  found,  that  even  self-devotion 
was  only  a  palliative.  She  writes  in  her  diary :  — 

"  I  went  to  walk  with  Richard,  then  sang  psalm  tunes 
with  Lloyd,  then  wrote  to  Aunt  Mary.  When  I  have 
not  joyous  energy  in  myself,  I  can  do  these  little  things 
for  others ;  very  many  of  my  attentions  are  of  this 
spurious  sort ;  they  are  my  consolations ;  the  givers 
[of  gratitude]  who  thank  me  are  deceived.  But  what 
can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  always  upbear  my  life  all  alone. 
The  heart  sinks  and  then  I  must  help  it  by  persuasions 
that  it  is  better  for  others  I  should  be  here  and  theirs. 
It  is  mere  palliative,  I  know. 

"  In  earliest  days  how  many  night-hours  have  found 
me  thus.  I  was  always  so  lonely.  I  used  to  cheer  my 
self  with  my  piano.  I  wish  I  had  it  now. 

"  When  no  gentle  eye-beam  charms, 
No  fond  hope  the  bosom  warms, 
Of  thinking  the  lone  mind  is  tired, 
Nought  seems  bright  to  be  desired, 
Music,  by  thy  sails  unfurled, 
Bear  me  to  thy  better  world  ; 
O'er  the  cold  and  weltering  sea 
Blow  thy  breezes  warm  and  free, 
By  sad  sighs  they  ne'er  were  chilled, 
By  skeptic  spell  were  never  stilled." l 

Again  she  writes,  at  the  same  period,  she  hav 
ing  then  various  classes  to  teach  :  — 

"  Did  not  get  home  till  just  before  my  class  came. 
Was  obliged  to  lie  on  the  bed  all  the  time  they  wera 
i  MS.  Diary,  1844. 


PERSONAL   TRAITS.  303 

with  me.  It  was  the  last  time,  and  they  were  pleasant. 
They  love  me  and  fancy  I  am  good  and  wise.  Oh  that 
it  gave  me  more  pleasure  to  do  a  little  good,  and  give  a 
little  happiness.  But  there  is  no  modesty  or  moderation 
in  me."  l 

These  extracts  are  quite  inconsistent,  I  think, 
with  the  charge  most  commonly  made  against 
Margaret  Fuller,  —  that  of  vanity  and  undue  self- 
absorption.  It  must  always  be  remembered  that 
some  previous  descriptions  of  her  have  been  in  a 
manner  warped  by  the  fact  that  they  proceeded 
from  the  most  gifted  and  intellectual  persons 
whom  she  knew ;  all  these  persons  being  almost 
always  men  whom  she  met  under  a  certain  amount 
of  intellectual  excitement,  to  whom  she  showed 
her  brightest  aspirations,  her  deepest  solicitudes. 
It  was  in  the  very  nature  of  such  a  description  that 
the  every-day  aspects  should  be  left  out ;  that  we 
should  see  chiefly  the  seeress,  the  dreamer,  the 
student.  She  writes  reproachfully  to  a  cultivated 
friend  after  an  interview,  "  You  seemed  to  con 
sider  me  as  some  tete  exalt£e,  at  the  hour  when  I 
was  making  bitter  sacrifices  to  duty."  Could  a 
memoir  have  been  made  up  out  of  her  letters  to 
her  mother,  full  of  suggestions  about  flower  bulbs, 
plans  as  to  the  larder,  and  visions  of  a  renovated 
silk  dress ;  or  could  we  have  before  us  a  long  se 
ries  of  the  sensible,  warm-hearted,  motherly  letters 
she  wrote  every  week  to  her  absent  younger  broth 
ers,  the  whole  effect  produced  would  have  been 
1  MS.  Diary,  1844. 


304  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

very  different.  The  complaint  is  constantly  made 
that  all  her  attainments  and  her  self-culture  did  not 
bring  her  happiness.  It  is  asking  a  great  deal  of 
any  single  woman  to  be  positively  happy  in  the 
presence  of  tormenting  ill-health,  poverty,  and  a 
self-sacrificing  habit  that  keeps  her  always  on  the 
strain.  It  is  even  something  to  ask  of  a  person, 
under  such  circumstances,  that  she  should  be  habit 
ually  cheerful  and  hopeful.  That  this  last  was  the 
predominant  tone  of  Margaret  Fuller's  daily  life  is 
proved  by  all  her  more  familiar  letters  and  by  the 
general  testimony  of  those  who  knew  her  best.  No 
doubt,  in  her  diaries,  there  are  passages  which 
record  depression  and  sometimes  almost  morbid 
periods  of  self-inspection  and  self-reproach.  That 
is  what  diaries  are  made  for ;  they  exist  in  order 
that  imaginative  and  passionate  natures  may  re 
lieve  themselves  by  expressing  these  moods,  and 
may  then  forget  them  and  proceed.  The  trouble 
comes  when  sympathetic  biographers  elevate  these 
heights  and  depths  into  too  great  importance  and 
find  the  table-lands  of  life  uninteresting.  There 
never  was  a  year  of  Margaret  Fuller's  life,  after 
her  precocious  maturity,  when  the  greater  part 
of  it  was  not  given  to  daily,  practical,  common- 
sense  labor,  and  this  usually  for  other  people. 

All  periods  have  their  fashions.  It  does  not 
mar  our  impression  of  the  admirable  capacity  and 
self-devotion  of  Abigail  Adams  that  she  signed  her 
early  letters  to  her  husband,  John  Adams,  as 
"  Portia."  It  was  the  fashion  of  the  time  ;  and 


PERSONAL  TRAITS.  305 

when  Margaret  Fuller  afterwards  tried  to  write 
out  her  imaginative  and  mystical  side  under  the 
name  of  "  Leila,"  it  belonged  to  that  period  also ; 
a  period  when  German  romance  was  just  begin 
ning  to  be  translated,  and  Oriental  poetry  to  be 
read.  These  were  her  dreams,  her  idealities ;  but 
when  it  was  a  question  how  to  provide  school- 
books  and  an  overcoat  for  her  little  brother,  no 
mother  of  ten  children  ever  set  about  the  business 
with  less  of  haziness  or  indefiniteness  of  mind.  If 
I  have  seemed  in  this  book  to  bring  my  heroine 
down  from  the  clouds  a  little  ;  it  is  simply  be 
cause  I  have  used  the  materials  at  my  command, 
and  have  tried  to  paint  her  as  she  was ;  a  being 
not  fed  on  nectar  and  ambrosia,  after  all,  but  on 
human  nature's  daily  food. 

It  may  be  asked  why,  with  this  daily  and  noble 
self-devotion  she  was  not  universally  beloved.  It 
can  be  very  briefly  told :  she  wanted  tact.  As 
some  essentially  selfish  persons  go  through  the 
world  winning  all  hearts  by  merely  possessing 
that  quality,  so  others  are  always  underrated  for 
want  of  it.  There  is  a  story  told  of  her,  that  at  a 
party  given  expressly  for  her  in  Cambridge  she 
took  a  piece  of  cake  from  a  plate  offered,  and  then 
impulsively  replaced  it  with  the  remark,  "  I  fear 
there  will  not  be  enough  to  go  round,"  thereby 
giving  more  offense  than  if  she  had  personally  ap 
propriated  the  whole  plateful.  It  was  this  simple 
and  not  always  judicious  honesty  of  purpose  which 
accounted  for  her  frequent  failure  to  attract  at 
20 


306  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

first  sight,  while  there  have  been  few  women  —  I 
at  least  have  never  known  any  woman  —  who  left 
behind  an  affection  so  deep  and  strong.  It  is  now 
thirty  years  since  her  death,  and  there  is  scarcely 
a  friend  of  hers  who  does  not  speak  of  her  with  as 
warm  a  devotion  as  if  she  had  died  yesterday. 

If  Margaret  Fuller  was  strict  and  unflinching 
in  her  judgments  of  other  people,  it  was  because 
she  was  so,  above  all,  in  dealing  with  herself. 
This  is  seen  on  every  page  of  her  diaries,  which 
record  the  very  heights  and  depths  of  a  nature 
as  yet  uncontrolled  and  passionately  aspiring. 
Feeling  her  own  powers  and  capacities,  she  also 
recognized  her  limitations  ;  but  her  statements  of 
these  two  sides  of  the  question  might  be  wholly 
detached,  and  so  gave  the  appearance  of  more 
moodiness  than  really  existed.  At  any  rate, 
moody  or  not,  they  were  sincere.  A  lady  once 
said  to  me  of  the  Fuller  family  :  "  Their  only  pe 
culiarity  was  that  they  said  openly  about  them 
selves  the  good  and  bad  things  which  we  com 
monly  suppress  about  ourselves  and  express  only 
about  other  people."  This  was  true,  as  has  been 
said,  about  the  elder  Fullers,  even  in  public ;  it 
was  true  of  Margaret  Fuller  in  her  diaries.  She 
was  an  acute  analyst  of  character,  and  again  and 
again  in  her  various  diaries  we  come  upon  sketches 
delineating  the  traits  of  each  person  in  the  room. 
Some  of  these  are  printed  in  the  "  Dial."  *  She 
always  includes  herself,  and  is  usually  more  un- 
*  Dial,  i.  136,  etc. 


PERSONAL   TRAITS.  307 

flattering  to  herself  than  to  anybody  else.  This 
may  be  called  self-consciousness,  but  it  certainly 
does  not  imply  vanity  ;  it  quite  as  often  takes  the 
form  of  an  almost  excessive  humility. 

It  would  be  easy  to  illustrate  all  this  at  great 
length  from  her  unpublished  papers.  The  most 
presumptuous  passage  about  herself  that  I  have 
been  able  to  find  is  this,  which  bears  no  date.  In 
speaking  of  Shelley's  "  Defense  of  Poesie,"  just 
read,  she  expresses  her  joy  at  finding  that  he  had 
taken  the  matter  up  very  much  from  the  point  of 
view  she  had  been  presenting  in  her  conversa 
tions.  "  At  least,"  she  says,  "  I  have  all  the  great 
thoughts,  and  whatever  the  world  may  say,  I 
shall  be  well  received  in  the  Elysian  fields."  1  Yet 
this  follows  close  upon  a  passage  expressing  her 
admiration  of  Shelley's  prose  style  and  her  utter 
despair  of  ever  being  able  to  write  like  him ;  she 
can  only  console  herself  by  thinking  that  in  con 
versation,  at  least,  she  had  met  him  on  his  own 
ground.  Soon  after  follow,  again  and  again,  pas 
sages  like  these,  written  at  different  times  :  — 

"  I  feel  within  myself  an  immense  power,  but  I  can 
not  bring  it  out.  I  stand  a  barren  vine-stalk  ;  no  grape 
will  swell,  though  the  richest  wine  is  slumbering  in  its 
roots." 

"  I  have  just  about  enough  talent  and  knowledge  to 
furnish  a  dwelling  for  friendship,  but  not  enough  to 
deck  with  golden  gifts  a  Delphos  for  the  world." 

"  As  I  read  Ellery  [Channing]  my  past  life  seems  a 
1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  588. 


308  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

poor  excuse  for  not  living ;  my  so-called  culture  a  col 
lection  of  shreds  and  patches  to  hide  the  mind's  naked 
ness.  Cannot  I  begin  really  to  live  and  think  now  ?  "  l 

How  many  authors,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
admiring  friends,  are  found  to  have  descended,  in 
their  secret  diaries,  to  quite  such  depths  of  humil 
ity  as  appear  in  these  extracts  ? 

Another  point  where  I  should  diverge  strongly 
from  the  current  estimate  of  Margaret  Fuller  is 
in  the  prevailing  assumption  that  her  chief  aim 
at  any  period  of  her  life  was  self-culture.  The 
Roman  thread  in  her  was  too  strong,  the  practical 
inheritance  from  her  parentage  too  profound,  for 
her  to  have  ever  contented  herself  with  a  life  of 
abstraction.  The  strong  training  that  came  from 
her  father,  the  early  influence  of  Jefferson's  let 
ters,  all  precluded  this.  What  she  needed  was 
not  books  but  life,  and  if  she  ever  expressed 
doubts  of  this  need,  she  always  came  back  to  it 
again.  "  Is  it  not  nobler  and  truer,"  she  wrote 
in  1842  to  W.  H.  Channing,  "to  live  than  to 
think  ?  "  2  Here  it  is  that  she  sometimes  chafes 
under  the  guidance  of  Emerson  ;  always  longs  to 
work  as  well  as  meditate,  to  deal  with  the  many, 
not  the  few,  to  feel  herself  in  action.  This  made 
it  the  best  thing  in  her  Providence  life  to  have 
attended  the  Whig  caucus,  and  made  her  think,  on 
board  the  French  war-vessel,  that  she  would  like 
to  command  it ;  this  made  her  delight  in  studying 

1  Fuller  MSS.  i.  589,  593,  597. 

2  MS. 


PERSONAL  TRAITS.  309 

Western  character;  this  led  her  to  New  York, 
where  the  matter-of-fact  influence  of  Horace 
Greeley  simply  confirmed  what  had  been  so  long 
growing.  Like  the  noble  youth  in  her  favorite 
Jean  Paul's  "  Titan,"  she  longed  for  an  enterprise 
for  her  idle  valor.  She  says  in  her  fragment  of 
autobiographical  romance :  — 

"I  steadily  loved  this  [Roman]  ideal  in  my  child 
hood,  and  this  is  the  cause,  probably,  why  I  have  always 
felt  that  man  must  know  how  to  stand  firm  on  the 
ground  before  he  can  fly.  In  vain  for  me  are  men 
more,  if  they  are  less,  than  Romans." 

Again  and  again  she  comes  back  in  her  corre 
spondence  to  this  theme,  as  when  she  writes  to  W. 
H.  Channing  (March  22,  1840)  :  — 

"  I  never  in  life  have  had  the  happy  feeling  of  really 
doing  anything.  I  can  only  console  myself  for  these 
semblances  of  actions  by  seeing  that  others  seem  to  be  in 
some  degree  aided  by  them.  But  oh  !  really  to  feel 
the  glow  of  action,  without  its  weariness,  what  heaven 
it  must  be  !  " 1 

Again  she  writes  to  the  same  friend,  contrast 
ing  the  meditative  life  of  Socrates  and  the  active 

life  of  Jesus  Christ :  — 

"CAMBRIDGE,  June  17,  1842. 

"  In  my  quiet  retreat  I  read  Xenophon  and  became 
more  acquainted  with  his  Socrates.  I  had  before  known 
only  the  Socrates  of  Plato,  one  much  more  to  my  mind. 
Socrates  took  the  ground  that  you  approve;  he  con 
formed  to  the  Greek  Church,  and  it  is  evident  with  a 
i  MS. 


310  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

sincere  reverence,  because  it  was  the  growth  of  the  na 
tional  mind.  He  thought  best  to  stand  on  its  platform, 
and  illustrate,  though  with  keen  truth,  by  received 
forms  :  this  was  his  right  way,  for  his  influence  was 
naturally  private,  for  individuals  who  could,  in  some  de 
gree,  respond  to  the  teachings  of  his  '  demon  ; '  it  made 
no  difference  to  him  ;  he  knew  the  multitude  would  not 
understand  him ;  but  it  was  the  other  way  that  Jesus 
took,  preaching  in  the  field  and  plucking  ears  of  corn 
on  the  Sabbath  day."  * 

Again,  after  a  day  in  the  woods  with  Emerson's 
"  Nature,"  —  reading  it  through  for  the  first  time 
to  herself,  Mr.  Emerson  himself  having  originally 
read  it  aloud  to  her,  —  she  thus  writes  to  him 
(April  12,  1840)  :  — 

"  The  years  do  not  pass  in  vain.  If  they  have  built 
no  temple  on  the  earth,  they  have  given  a  nearer  view 
of  the  city  of  God.  Yet  would  I  rather,  were  the  choice 
tendered  to  me,  draw  the  lot  of  Pericles  than  that  of 
Anaxagoras.  And  if  such  great  names  do  not  fit  the 
occasion,  I  would  delight  more  in  thought-living  than  in 
'living  thought.  That  is  not  a  good  way  of  expressing 
it  either,  but  I  must  correct  the  press  another  time."  2 

This  feeling  led  her  to  criticise  more  than  once, 
as  we  have  seen,  her  friend's  half  cloistered  life  at 
Concord.  Describing  in  one  of  her  letters  some 
speech  which  called  for  action,  perhaps  Kossuth's, 
she  says  :  — 

"  Read  these  side  by  side  with  Waldo's  paragraphs 
and  say,  is  it  not  deeper  and  truer  to  live  than  to  think  ? 
i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.)  2  MS. 


PERSONAL   TRAITS.  311 

.  .  .  Yet  is  his  [Emerson's]  a  noble  speech  !     I  love  to 
reprove  myself  by  it." l 

As  I  read  her  letters  and  diaries,  it  seems  plain 
that  her  yearning  desire,  during  her  whole  life, 
was  not  merely  to  know  but  to  do.  She  was 
urged  on  by  an  intense  longing,  not  for  a  selfish 
self-culture,  nor  even  for  self-culture  in  its  very 
widest  sense,  but  for  usefulness  in  her  day  and 
generation. 

"  He  who  alone  knoweth,"  she  writes  in  August, 
1843,  "will  affirm  that  I  have  tried  to  work  whole 
hearted,  from  an  earnest  faith,  yet  my  hand  is  often 
languid  and  my  heart  is  slow ;  —  I  must  be  gone,  I  feel, 
but  whither?  I  know  not:  if  I  cannot  make  this  plot 
of  ground  yield  corn  and  roses,  famine  must  be  my  lot 
forever  and  forever,  surely."  2 

In  accordance  with  this  thought,  she  felt  that 
this  country  must  create,  as  it  has  now  done,  its 
own  methods  of  popular  education,  especially  for 
the  training  of  girls.  She  wrote  in  her  "  Summer 
on  the  Lakes :  "  — 

"  Methods  copied  from  the  education  of  some  English 
Lady  Augusta  are  as  ill  suited  to  the  daughter  of  an 
Illinois  farmer  as  satin  shoes  to  climb  the  Indian 
mounds.  .  .  .  Everywhere  the  fatal  spirit  of  imitation, 
of  reference  to  European  standards,  penetrates  and 
threatens  to  blight  whatever  of  original  growth  might 
adorn  the  soil."  3 

Had  this  protest  come  from  an  ignorant  per- 

i  MS.  (W.  H.  C.)  2  MS.  (W.  H.  C.) 

8  Summer  on  the  Lakes,  p.  47. 


* 
812  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLL 

son,  it  would  have  simply  amounted  to  turning 
one's  back  on  all  the  experience  of  the  elder 
world.  Coming  from  the  most  cultivated  Ameri 
can  woman  of  her  day,  it  meant  that  there  was 
something  worth  more  than  culture  —  namely, 
original  thoughts  and  free  action.  Whatever  else 
she  was,  she  was  an  American. 

These  are  the  reasons  for  thinking  that  neither 
the  charge  of  vanity  nor  of  undue  self-culture  can 
be  sustained  against  Margaret  Fuller.  And  this 
is  said  after  reading  many  hundred  pages  of  her 
letters  and  journals.  They  are  clearly  written,  in 
a  hand  quite  peculiar,  not  a  little  formal,  and  as 
it  were  jointed  rather  than  flowing,  and  not 
greatly  varying  throughout  her  whole  life.  She 
is  always  clear  in  style  where  she  takes  pains  to 
be  clear,  is  even  business-like  where  she  aims  at 
that,  and  knows  how  to  make  herself  emphatic 
without  the  aid  of  underscoring ;  indeed  she  ab 
stains  from  this  to  an  extent  which  would  quite 
amaze  Mr.  Howells.  To  be  sure,  she  was  not  at 
all  one  of  those  charming,  helpless,  inconsequent 
creatures  whom  he  so  exquisitely  depicts ;  she  de 
manded  a  great  deal  from  life,  but  generally  knew 
what  she  wanted,  stated  it  effectively,  and  at  last 
obtained  it.  It  was  indeed  fortunate  for  her 
younger  brothers  and  sisters  that  she  was  of  this 
constitution.  She  lived  at  a  time  when  life  in 
America  was  hard  for  all  literary  people,  from 
the  absence  of  remuneration,  the  small  supply  of 
books,  the  habit  of  jealousy  among  authors,  and 


PERSONAL   TRAITS.  313 

the  lingering  prevalence  of  the  colonial  spirit, 
which  she  battled  stoutly  to  banish.  It  was  espe 
cially  hard  for  women  in  that  profession  because 
there  were  few  of  them,  their  early  education  was 
won  at  great  disadvantage,  and  much  was  con 
ceded  reluctantly  that  now  comes  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Were  she  living  to-day  her  life  would  be 
far  smoother ;  she  would  find  plenty  of  remuner 
ative  work,  fair  recognition,  and  kindly  sympa 
thy.  On  the  other  hand,  she  would  have  to 
adapt  herself  to  a  somewhat  different  world,  for 
she  would  not  be  surrounded  by  that  ardent 
and  effusive  social  atmosphere  which  prevailed 
throughout  the  limited  world  of  Transcendental 
ism.  It  was  a  fresh,  glowing,  youthful,  hopeful, 
courageous  period,  and  those  who  were  its  chil 
dren  must  always  rejoice  that  they  were  born  be 
fore  it  faded  away. 

My  friend  Mr.  O.  B.  Frothingham,  the  only  direct 
historian  of  the  Transcendental  period,  has  failed, 
in  my  judgment,  to  give  more  than  the  husk  and 
outside  of  it,  although  for  this  his  book  is  valu 
able.  The  trouble  was  that  he  was  neither  a  part 
of  that  great  impulse  nor  immediately  its  child  ; 
in  the  day  of  Transcendentalism  he  was  looking 
in  a  different  direction  and  had  no  sympathy  for 
its  aims;  and  yet  he  was  not  quite  far  enough 
away  to  view  it  in  perspective.  To  its  immediate 
offspring,  even  if  of  a  younger  race,  it  bequeathed 
a  glow  and  a  joy  that  have  been  of  life-long  per 
manence.  I  have  noticed  that  most  of  those  who 


314  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 

were  nurtured  under  that  influence  have  had  the 
good  fortune  to  grow  old  slowly  ;  their  world  is 
still  poetic ;  the  material  achievements,  the  utili 
tarian  philosophyof  later  years  may  come  or  go, 
leaving  their  ideal,  their  confidence,  their  immor 
tal  hope  unchanged.  And  now  that  much  which 
Transcendentalism  sought  is  fulfilled,  and  that 
which  was  ecstasy  has  —  as  Emerson  predicted  — 
become  daily  bread,  its  reminiscences  mingle  with 
all  youth's  enchantments,  and  belong  to  a  period 
when  we  too  "  toiled,  feasted,  despaired,  were 

happy." 

And  as  for  Margaret  Ossoli,  her  life  seems  to 
me,  on  the  whole,  a  triumphant  rather  than  a  sad 
one,  in  spite  of  the  prolonged  struggle  with  ill 
ness,  with  poverty,  with  the  shortcomings  of  others 
and  with  her  own.  In  later  years  she  had  the  ful 
fillment  of  her  dreams ;  she  had  what  Elizabeth 
Barrett,  writing  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  to 
Robert  Browning,  named  as  the  three  great  de 
siderata  of  existence,  "life  and  love  and  Italy." 
She  shared  in  great  deeds,  she  was  the  counselor 
of  great  men,  she  had  a  husband  who  was  a  lover, 
and  she  had  a  child.  They  loved  each  other  in 
their  lives,  and  in  their  death  they  were  not  di 
vided.  Was  not  that  enough  ? 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  APPENDIX. 


WORKS  OF  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI. 


1.  Correspondence  with  Goethe  in  the  Last  Years  of  his  Life. 
Translated  from  the  German  of  Eckermann.    Boston,  1839. 

2.  Correspondence  of  Fraulein  Giinderode  and  Bettine  von  Ar- 
nim.     Boston,    1842.      [Reprinted,   with  additions,   by  Mrs. 
Minna  Wesselhoeft.    Boston,  1861.] 

3.  Summer  on  the  Lakes.     Boston,  1843. 

4.  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.    New  York,  1844. 

5.  Papers  on  Literature  and  Art.     New  York,  1846. 

6.  Collected  Works,  edited  by  Arthur  B.  Fuller,  with  an  intro 
duction  by  Horace  Greeley.     New  York,  1855. 

I.  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  and  Kindred  Papers,  re 
lating  to  the  Sphere,  Condition,  and  Duties  of  Woman. 
II.  At  Home  and  Abroad.     [Including  Summer  on  the  Lakes; 
Tribune  Letters  from  Europe ;  Letters  to  Friends  from  Eu 
rope  ;  Accounts  of  the  Homeward  Yoyage ;  and  Memorials.] 

III.  Art,  Literature,  and  the  Drama.      [Including  Papers  on 
Literature  and  Art,  reprinted ;  and  a  translation  of  Goethe's 
Tasso.] 

IV.  Life  Without  and  Life  Within.     [Including  essays,  reviews, 
and  poems,  nearly  all  hitherto  unpublished  in  book  form.] 

CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  PERIODICALS. 

Boston  Daily  Advertiser.*    Defense  of  Brutus.      November  27, 

1834. 

Western  Messenger,      Review  of  Lives  of  Crabbe  and  Mora 
,     i.  20. 


316  BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  APPENDIX. 

Western  Messenger.     Review  of  Bulwer's  Works,     i.  101. 

Western  Messenger.     Review  of  Philip  van  Artevelde.     i.  398. 

Western  Messenger.     Review  of  Korner.     i.  306,  369. 

Western  Messenger.     Review  of  Letters  from  Palmyra,     v.  24. 

Dial  Vol.  I.  No.  1.  Essay  on  Critics;  Allston  Exhibition ,- 
Richter  (poem) ;  A  Sketch  (poem) ;  A  Sketch  (poem)  [?]. 
No.  2.  Record  of  the  Months  (part).  No.  3.  Klopstock  and 
Meta ;  The  Magnolia  of  Lake  Pontchartrain ;  Menzel's  View 
of  Goethe;  Record  of  the  Months.  No.  4.  Leila;  A  Dia 
logue. 

Dial  Vol.  II.  No.  1.  Goethe;  Need  of  a  Diver;  Notices  of 
Recent  Publications.  No.  2.  Lives  of  the  Great  Composers; 
Festus.  No.  3.  Yucca  Filamentosa ;  Bettine  Brentano  and 
her  Friend  Giinderode ;  Epilogue  to  the  Tragedy  of  Essex ;  No 
tices  of  Monaldi  and  Wilde's  Tasso  (including  part  of  her 
translation  of  Goethe's  Tasso). 

Dial.  Vol.  III.  No.  1.  Entertainments  of  the  Past  Winter. 
Notices  of  Hawthorne.  No.  2.  Romaic  and  Rhine  Ballads; 
Tennyson's  Poems,  in  Record  of  the  Months.  No.  4.  Canova ; 
Record  of  the  Months  (part). 

Dial.  Vol.  IV.  No.  1.  The  Great  Lawsuit;  Man  vs.  Men, 
Woman  vs.  Women.  No.  3.  The  Modern  Drama.  No.  4. 
Dialogue. 

New  York  Tribune,  1844-46.  Too  numerous  to  be  here  catalogued. 
They  are  usually  designated  by  an  asterisk  (*)  in  the  Tribune, 
and  many  are  reprinted  in  the  volume  "Life  Without  and 
Life  Within,"  mentioned  above. 

Liberty  Bell   (Anti-Slavery  annual,   1846).     The  Liberty  Bell 


PUBLICATIONS   CONCERNING  HER. 

BIOGRAPHIES. 

1.  Memoirs  of  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli,  by  R.  W.  Emerson,  W. 
H.  Channing,  and  J.  F.  Clarke,  2  vols.    Boston,  1852.    [Edited 
mainly  by  W.  H.  Channing.     Reprinted  at  New  York,  1869; 
at  Boston,  1884.] 

2.  Margaret  Fuller   (Marchesa   Ossoli)',  by  Julia  Ward  Howa 
["  Eminent  Women  "  series.]     Boston,  1883. 

3.  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli,   by  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson, 
J"  American  Men  of  Letters  "  series.]     Boston,  1884. 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  APPENDIX.  317 

BRIEFER  MEMOIRS   AND    SKETCHES. 

Crosland,  Mrs.  N.     In  "Memorable  Women."     London,  1854. 

Dall,  Mrs.  C.  H.  In  "  Historical  Pictures  Retouched."  Boston, 
1850. 

Frothingham,  O.  B.  In  "  Transcendentalism  in  New  England." 
Boston,  1876. 

Griswold,  R.  W.  In  "Prose  "Writers  of  America."  Philadel 
phia,  1846. 

Griswold,  R.  W.  In  "Female  Poets  of  America."  Philadel 
phia,  1849. 

Hale,  Mrs.  S.  J.     In  "Woman's  Record."    New  York,  1853. 

Higginson,  T.  W.  In  "Eminent  Women  of  the  Age."  Hart 
ford,  Conn.,  1868. 

Powell,  T.    In  "  Living  Authors  of  America."    New  York,  1866. 

Russell,  W.  In  "  Extraordinary  Men  and  Women."  London, 
1860. 

Russell,  W.     In  "Eccentric  Personages."    New  York,  1866. 

Smiles,  T.    In  "  Brief  Biographies."     Boston,  1861. 

REVIEWS,    ETC.,    IN    PERIODICALS. 

[Prepared  from  Poole's  Index,  by  the  editor's  permission,  a 
few  references  being  added.] 

1.  Margaret  Fuller  and  the  Reformers.    Brownson's  Quarterly, 
ii.  249. 

2.  "  At  Home  and  Abroad  "  (F.  H.  Hedge),  N.  A.  Review,  Ixxxiii. 
261 ;  London  Athenaeum  (1856),  489. 

3.  Character  and  Works  (C.  H.  Dall),  N.  A.  Review,  xci.  119. 

4.  Life  and  Works.     Democratic  Review,  xxx.  513. 

5.  "Memoirs."    New  Quarterly  Review,  i.  168;  Prospective  Re 
view,  viii.  199;  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  xx.  129;  Living 
Age,    xxxiii.   28,  289  ;    Eclectic  Review,   xcv.   678 ;    London 
Athenaeum  (1852),  159;    Eniile   Moute'gut,  Revue  des  deux 
Mondes,  xiv.  37. 

6.  "  Papers  on  Literature  and  Art."     Democratic  Review,  xix. 
198,  316. 

7.  Place  in  Literature.     Potter's  American  Monthly,  x.  74. 

8.  "  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."     Christian  Examiner, 
xxxviii.  416.     Southern  Quarterly,  x.  148.     (A.  P.  Peabody), 
N.  A.  Review,  Ixxxi.  557. 


318  BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  APPENDIX. 

9.  Miscellaneous  Notices.  British  Quarterly,  xvi.  221.  (S.  Wad- 
dington),  Tinsley's  Magazine,  xvi.  172.  (A.  L.  Johnson),  Gal 
axy,  vi.  121.  (M.  R.  Whittlesey),  Radical,  vi.  1.  ( A.  C.  Brack- 
ett),  Radical,  ix.  354.  Chambers's  Journal,  xvii.  322.  Dublin 
University  Magazine,  xcii.  542,  686.  Household  Words,  v.  121. 
Sharpe's  Magazine,  xv.  201.  Same  article  in  Eclectic  Magazine, 
xxvi.  171.  National  Magazine,  i.  314,  409,  529.  Canadian 
Monthly,  xiii.  289.  International  Monthly,  i.  162. 

POEMS. 

Ames,  Mary  C.    At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  458. 
Cranch,  C.  P.     Atlantic  Monthly,  xxvi.  231. 
Cranch,  C.  P.    At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  456. 
James,  G.  P.  R.    At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  463.    Also  in  Inter 
national  Monthly,  i.  165. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage.     At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  464. 
Smith,  E.  Oakes.     At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  460. 
Anonymous.    At  Home  and  Abroad,  p.  461. 

BOOKS  ON  THE  FULLER  FAMILY. 

Fuller,  R.  F.    Chaplain  Fuller,  a  Memoir.    Boston,  1863. 
Higginson,  T.  W.    Memoir  of  Arthur  B.  Fuller  (in  Harvard 
Memorial  Biographies).     Cambridge,  1866. 


INDEX. 


ADAMS,  Abigail,  304. 

Adams,  John  Quincy,  12,  27,  29. 

Alcott,  A.  B.,  diary  quoted,  75,  143, 
144,  146-148,  180,  191 ;  other  refer 
ences,  77-80,  95, 130,  140,  142,  148, 
155, 159-162,  165, 175,  181,  285. 

Alfieri,  Victor,  45. 

Allston,  Washington,  95. 

"American  Literature,1'  essay  on, 
203,  297. 

Americanism  in  literature,  137. 

Anaxagoras,  5. 

Arconati,  Marchioness  Visconti,  let 
ter  to,  274  ;  other  references,  231. 

Arnim,  Bettina  (Brentano)  von,  18, 
190-192. 

Atkinson,  H.  G.,  224. 

Austin,  Sarah,  189. 

Autobiographical  romance,  21, 22, 309. 

BACHI,  Pietro,  33. 

Bacon,  Lord,  45. 

Baillie,  Joanna,  229 

Ballou,  Adin,  180. 

Bancroft,  G.,  33,  47,  48,  50, 103, 144. 

Barker.     See  Ward. 

Barlow,  D.  H.,39. 

Barlow,   Mrs.    D.   II.,  letters  to,  39, 

54,  62,  94, 154. 
Barlow,  F.  C.,  39. 
Barrett,  Miss.     See  Browning. 
Bartlett,  Robert,  138.  144,  146. 
Bartol,  C.  A.,  142, 144. 
Beck,  Charles,  33. 
Belgiojoso,  Princess,  236. 
Beranger,  J.  P.  de,  230. 
Birthplace  of  Madame  Ossoli,  20. 
Bolivar,  Simon,  15. 
Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  13,  15. 
Bracebridge,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  224. 
Bradford,  George  P.,  144. 
Brentano,  Bettina.     See  Arnim 
Briggs,  Miss,  225. 
Brook  Farm,  173. 
Brovvn,  Charles  Brockden,  132. 
Bro-n,  Samuel,  226. 
Brown's  "  Philosophy  "  studied,  24. 


Browne,  M.  A.,  39. 

Browning,  Elizabeth  (Barrett),  220, 

314. 

Browning,  Robert,  19,  69,  220,  229. 
Brownson,  0.  A.,  142-144,  147,  148. 
Brutus,  defense  of,  47-50. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  131. 
Buckingham,  J.  T.,  77. 
Bull,  Ole,  211. 
Burges,  Tristam,  87. 
Burleigh,  Charles,  176. 
Burns,  Robert,  226. 

CABOT,  J.  E.,  159. 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  between  1810  and 

1830,  32. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  290. 
"  Carlyle-Emerson  Correspondence," 

4, 135,  145, 151,  164,  170. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  45, 69, 102.  135, 145, 

164,  175,  190,  220,  222,  229. 
Cass,  Lewis,  Jr.,  241 ;  letter  to,  266; 

letter  from,  234. 
Chalmers,  Thomas,  229. 
Chambers,  Robert,  226. 
Channing,  Edward  T.,  33. 
Channiug,  W.   E.   (Boston),   53,  86, 
'   106,122,144,171. 
Channing,  W.  Ellery  (Concord),  30, 

100,  156,  164,  307. 
Channing,  Ellen  (Fuller),  30,  31,  52, 

55,  92,  234. 
Channing,  W.  H.,  letters  to,  91,  110, 

111,  120, 148, 151, 161, 180, 183,  191, 

201,  207,  308,  309  ;  other  references, 

3,  34,  206,  212,  279. 
Channing.     See  Eustis. 
Chapman,  M.  W.,  125. 
Chappell,  H.  L.,  letter  to,  64. 
Cheney,  E.  D.,128. 
Child,  L.  M.,  114,  115, 128,  132,  203, 

206,211. 

Cicero,  Marcus  Tullius,  50. 
Clarke,  James  Freeman,  34,  85,  122, 

142,  144, 146,  155,  162, 164, 168, 169, 

193,  199. 
Clarke,  Sarah  F.,  193, 199,  200 ;  letter 


320 


INDEX. 


from,  117 ;  illustrations  for  "  Sum 
mer  on  the  Lakes,"  200. 

Clarke,  William  H.,  193. 

Club,  a  literary,  142. 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  223. 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  69, 134, 135, 223,  290- 
292,  297. 

Combe,  Andrew,  229. 

Cooper,  J.F.,  131, 132. 

Cousin,  V.,  135. 

Crabbe,  G.,  290. 

Cranch,  C.  P.,  155, 162,  164,  211,  240. 

Cranch,  Mrs.  C.  P.,  211. 

Crane,  Peter,  17. 

Crane,  Mrs.,  description  of,  17. 

Crowe,  Mrs.,  226. 

DANA,  Chief  Justice,  27. 

Dana,  R.  H.,95. 

Dana,  R.  H.,  Jr.,  24. 

Dante  degli  Alighieri,  86. 

Davis,  George  TM  3,  34. 

Davis,  J.  C.,  3. 

Davis,  W.  T.,  62. 

Degerando,  Baron.  69. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  226, 229. 

Derby,  Mrs.,  223. 

Devvey,  0.,  62. 

"  Dial,"  origin  and  history  of ,  130  ; 

prospectus  of,  152. 
Dwight,  J.  S.,  146,  149, 162, 164. 

EASTMAN,  Mrs.  S.  C.,  3. 

Eckermann,  J.  P.,  91,  189,  284. 

Edgeworth,  Maria,  132. 

Eichhorn,  J.  G.,  45. 

Emerson,  Ellen,  67. 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  letters  to,  about 
"Dial,"  151,  154,  157,  166,  168, 169, 
171  ;  about  Brook  Farm,  181,  182  ; 
from  Chicago,  193,  196 ;  on  sailing 
for  Europe,  220  :  other  letters  to,  67, 
68,  70,  80,  86,  89,  94,  199,  301,  310. 
Description  of,  in  diary,  66  ;  passages 
from  unpublished  poemg  of,  66  ; 
letters  concerning,  62,  63  ;  crit 
icisms  on,  by  M.  F.  0.,  66,  70,  72, 
121, 157, 166, 167,  284,  310  ;  extracts 
from  his  "Dial"  papers,  137,  176; 
his  inadequate  estimate  of  M.  F.  0., 
300  ;  his  defense  of  Alcott,  77  ;  other 
references,  3,  45,  53,  64,  65,  69,  71, 
75,  77,  88,  WL  103,  104,  116,  121, 
130,  135,  138, 140, 142, 144,  146,  US- 
ISO,  156-160,  162, 164,  165,  172,  175, 
177, 179, 180,  191,  205,  216,  221,  226, 
247,  284-286,  308,  311. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  R.  W.,  67,  69,  128. 

Emerson,  Waldo,  67. 

Erckmann-Chatrian,  17. 

Eustis,  Dr.,  96. 

Euatis,  Mary  (Channing),  128. 

Everett,  Edward,  38. 


FARRAR,  John,  41,  45,  52,  53,  182. 
Farrar,  Mrs.  John,  36,  36,  41,  45,  5L 

52,  62,  63,  283. 
Fitton,  Miss  E.,  275. 
Flowers,  Mrs.  Fuller's  love  of,  18. 
Follen,  Charles,  33. 
Francis,  Convers,  142,  144,  146. 
Friendship,  letter  on,  72. 
Frothingham,  0.  B.,  313. 
Fuller,  Abraham,  11,  64. 
Fuller,  ArthurB.,  letters  to,  69,  83; 

other  references,  3,  22,  58,  106,  203. 
Fuller.  Edith,  248. 
Fuller,  Ellen.     See  Channing. 
Fuller,   Eugene,  letters  to,  202,  208  ; 

other  references,  61,  62. 
Fuller,  Hiram,  79,  80,  87. 
Fuller,  Hon.  Timothy,  12,  14,  16,  20, 

22,  26,  28,  32,  48  ;  addresses  of,  13, 

16  ;  oration  of,  15 ;  letter  to,  51. 
Fuller,  Margaret  (Crane),  17,  20. 
Fuller,  Rev.  Timothy,  9,  10. 
Fuller,  Richard  F.,  letters  to,  69,  105, 

106,  273;  other  references,  17,  21, 

220. 
Fuller,  Thomas,  poem  by,  8. 

GARRISON,  W.  L.,  129. 

Gibbon,  E.,  45,  50. 

Giovanni,  Ser,  256-258,  260,  264. 

Goethe,  J.  W.  von,  45,  47,  63.  68,  69, 
91, 101,  135,  158, 188-191,  283,  284. 

Gould,  B.  A.,  134. 

Graham,  S.,  175. 

Grater,  Friedrich,  83. 

Greeley,  Horace,  Recollections  quoted, 
80,213;  Life  by  Parton  quoted,  213, 
218  ;  other  references,  3,  80,  201, 
206,  207,  209-214,  284,  293,  309. 

Greeley,  Mrs.  Horace,  207 

Greene,  A.  G.,3,  163. 

Greene,  W.  B.,  163. 

Greenough,  Harriet  (Fay),  36. 

Gregory,  0.,  223. 

Greys,  The,  225. 

Giinderode,  Caroline  von,  18, 190-192. 

HAHN  HAHN,  Countess,  226. 

Hairing,  Harro,  219. 

Hasty,  Captain,  275.  276. 

Hasty,  Mrs.,  276, 278,  279. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  extract  from 
"Note-Books,"  103;  other  refer 
ences,  173,  174, 178,  179. 

Hedge,  F.  H.,  letters  to,  43,  44,  48, 
63, 141, 149,  150  ;  other  references, 
3,  22.  34,  44,  46,  62,  141-144,  146, 
162,  188. 

Heine,  Heinrich,  17,  45,  298. 

Heraud,  John  A.,  146-147,  160,  16L, 
229  ;  his  magazine,  140,  145,  160. 

Herschel,  F.  W.,46. 

Higginsons,  The,  62. 


INDEX. 


321 


Hoar,  Elizabeth,  letters  from,  64, 119 ; 

other  references,  3,  248,  249. 
Holmes,  John,  24. 
Holmes,  0.  W.,  24,  25,  30,  34,  36. 
Hooper,  Ellen  (Sturgis),  154,  156. 
Houghton,  Lord  (R.  M.  Milnes),  69. 
Howe,  Julia  (Ward),  2. 
Howitts,  the,  229. 
Hudson,  II.  N.,  211. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  145. 
Hutchinson  Family,  the,  176. 

INDIANS,  study  of  the,  196. 
Ireland,  Mr.,  221. 
Irish,  defense  of  the,  214. 
Irving,  Washington,  131,  132. 

JACOBS,  Sarah  S.,  80,  84. 

Jahn,  F.  L.,  45. 

James,  Henry,  134. 

Jameson,  Anna,  195. 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  4,  16,  45,  308. 

Jonson,  Ben,  69,  134. 

KANT,  Immanuel,  45,  282,  283. 
Klnney,  Mr.,  letter  from,  247. 
Kittredge,  Rev.  Mr.,  53. 
Knapp,  J.  J.,  39. 
Kneeland,  Abner,  77. 

LAFARGB,  John,  134. 

Lafayette,  Marquis  de,  15. 

La  Mennais,  II.  F.  R.  de,  230. 

Lane,  Charles,  160,  166. 

Leonidas,  47. 

Lewes,  G.  II.,  229. 

Longfellow,  II.  W.,  criticisms  on,  138, 
204,  218,  293;  other  references,  131, 
283,  293-295,  298. 

Loring,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E.  G.,  122,  128. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  criticisms  on,  217,  296  ; 
retaliation  by,  5,  298  ;  ofcher  refer 
ences,  128, 164,  176,  203,  216,  217, 
293,  296-298. 

Lowell,  Maria  (White),  128,  272  ;  let 
ter  from,  244. 

"  Lyric  Glimpses,"  286,  288. 

Me  Do  WELL,  Mrs.,  211. 

Mackie,  J.  M.,  163. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  187,  287,  288. 

Mann,  Horace,  11,  12. 

Mariana,  story  of,  23. 

Marston,  J.  Westland,  146, 160. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  36,  45,  63,  122- 

129,  222,  223,  283,  284. 
Martineau,  James,  221. 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  226. 
Mazzini,  Joseph,  5,  229,  231,  236,  244, 

284. 

Middleton,  Conyers,  50. 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  146. 
Vilman,  II.  II.,  223. 

21 


Milnes,  R.  M.     See  Houghtan. 
Milton,  John,  69. 
Morris,  G.  P.,  80. 
Mozier,  Mrs.,  276. 

NEAL,  John,  299. 

Newton,  Stuart,  32. 

Novalis  (F.  von  Hardenbure),  48, 145. 

Nuttall,  Thomas,  33. 

OSSOLI,  A.  P.  E.,  birth  of,  253  :  de- 
scriptions  of,  269,  268,  270,  271; 
death  of,  279. 

Ossoli,  G.  A.,  descriptions  of,  243, 244, 
247;  letters  from,  249. 

Ossoli,  Sarah  Margaret  (Fuller),  per 
sonal  relations  of  author  with,  2; 
manuscript  letters  and  journals  of, 
3;  demanded  something  beyond 
self-culture,  4,  6,  87,  88,  111,  213, 
308,  309,  311 ;  reading  Jefferson's 
correspondence,  4,  45,  87,  308  ;  crit 
icism  on  her  "  Memoirs,"  5,  203, 
300;  criticisms  of  Lowell  on,  5, 
298  ;  ancestry,  7 ;  birthplace,  20  ; 
autobiographical  romance,  22,  188, 
309  ;  division  of  her  hours,  24,  81 ; 
appearance  at  school,  24;  appear 
ance  in  company,  29  ;  mode  of  ed 
ucation,  21,  28  ;  early  companions, 
34,  36  ;  women  who  influenced  her, 
35 ;  early  verses,  38  ;  letters  from, 
17,  21,  39,  43,  44,  48,  51,  54,  56,  69, 
62,  63,  70,  72,  78,  81,  83,  86,  87,  89, 
91,  94,  95,  97-99,  101, 106, 106,  110- 
112,  120, 123, 124, 141, 149-151, 154, 
167, 162, 165, 166, 168, 169, 171, 180- 
183,  191-193, 196,  198,  200-202,  207- 
209,  212,  220, 250,  266,  268,  270,  271, 
273,  274,  309-311 ;  passages  from  di 
aries,  22,  28,  31,  37,  41,  66, 100, 104, 
106,  114,  122,  167, 187, 188, 195,  221- 
228,  232,  302  ;  removal  to  Groton, 
43 ;  early  composition,  46 ;  first  pub 
lication,  47 ;  first  journey,  63 ;  care 
of  family,  64,  68,  301,  303  ;  friend 
ship  with  Emerson,  62 ;  love  of  chil 
dren,  67,  82,  107,  210 ;  reading,  68 ; 
verses,  38,  70,  102,  185,  302 ;  criti 
cisms  on  Emerson,  71,  72, 157,  810 ; 
teaching  in  Boston,  75  ;  in  Provi 
dence,  79  ;  description  of  party  in 
Boston,  86  ;  self-esteem  and  humil 
ity,  88,  303,  306-308,  312  ;  life  at  Ja 
maica  Plain,  94  ;  flower-pieces,  96 ; 
description  of  nature,  98;  "ry^- 
bread  days,"  104  ;  conversations, 
109 ;  interest  in  mythology,  114  :  re 
lations  with  Miss  Martineau,  128 ; 
women  who  took  part  in  her  conver 
sations,  128  ;  criticisms  on  contrib 
utors  to  "  Dial,"  165  ;  not  a  resident 
at  Brook  Farm,  173;  books  pub- 


822 


INDEX. 


lished,  187 ;  Western  journey,  193  ; 
removal  to  New  York,  205  ;  investi 
gations  of  poverty  and  crime,  206, 
211 ;  religious  feeling,  206  ;  criti 
cisms  on  Longfellow,  138,  204,  218, 
293 ;  on  Lowell,  217,  296 ;  departure 
for  Europe,  220  ;  her  European  note 
book,  220 ;  stay  in  London,  229  ;  ar 
rival  in  Rome,  230 ;  the  Italian  rev 
olution,  231 ;  marriage  and  mother 
hood,  231,  253  ;  early  feeling  about 
them,  232  ;  early  attachment,  233  ; 
service  in  hospitals,  236  ;  first  meet 
ing  with  Marquis  Ossoli,  239  ;  life 
at  Rieti,  238,  250,  266  ;  removal  to 
Florence,  241,  245  ;  correspondence 
with  husband,  248,  279  ;  description 
of  child,  268,  270,  271 ;  her  book  on 
Roman  republic,  272,  282;  voyage 
to  America,  272  ;  forebodings,  273  ; 
shipwreck,  276;  literary  traits,  281; 
not  a  disciple  of  any  one,  284 ;  ex 
amples  of  her  power  of  statement, 
289;  personal  traits,  299;  phreno 
logical  examination,  299  ;  her  life 
on  the  whole  successful,  314. 

PALMER,  Edward,  175. 

"  Papers  on  Literature  and  Art,"  203. 

Park,  Dr.,  23. 

Parker,  Theodore,  letter  from,  162  ; 
other  references,  3,  86,  130,  132, 
140,  142,  144,  160,  165,  169,  181. 

Parker,  Mrs.  Theodore,  128. 

Parton,  James,  213. 

Paterculus,  Velleius,  49,  50. 

Peabody,  Miss  Elizabeth  P.,  75,  114, 
142,  168,  178,  192 ;  letter  to,  81. 

Pericles,  5. 

Perkins,  Mr.,  24. 

Petrarch,  F.,  136. 

Plutarch,  49,  50,  69 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  156,  216,  217. 

Prescott,  Misses,  23. 

Putnam,  George,  142. 

QCINCT,  Mrs.  Josiah,  131. 

RADZIVILL,  Princess,  231. 

Randall,  Elizabeth,  39. 

R«5camier,  Madame,  37. 

Reformers    in  New  England    (1840- 

1850),  175. 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,  28,  45. 
Ripley,  George,  91,  142,  144,  146,  147, 

149,  154,  167,  179-181,  183, 189,  291. 
Ripley,  Mrs.  G.,  163,  180,  183 ;  letter 

Robbins,' S.  D.,  181. 
Robinson,  Rev.  Mr.,  63,  68. 
Rosa,  Salvator,  95. 
Roficoe,  William,  221. 
Rotch,  Mary,  letter  to,  212, 


Russell,  Le  Baron,  144. 
"Rye-bread  days,"  104. 

SAND,  George,  178,  230. 

Saxton,  Rufus,  163. 

Schiller,  J.  C.  F.  von,  45. 

Scott,  David,  225,  226. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  228,  297. 

Scougal,  Henry,  69. 

Segur,  Comte  de,  109. 

Shakespeare,  William,  291,  292. 

Shelley,  P.  B.,  42,  134,  290,  307. 

Shepard,  Mr.,  9. 

Sismondi,  J.  C.  L.  S.  de,  24. 

Slavery,  American,  10,  12,  14,  126. 

Smith,  Southwood,  229. 

Socrates,  309. 

Southey,  Robert,  45,  290. 

Spring,  Edward,  223. 

Spring,  Marcus  and  Rebecca,  219,  220, 

2287239. 

Spurzheim,  J.  G.,  49. 
Stael,  Madame  de,  30,  37,  45, 109 
Stetson,  Caleb,  142,  144. 
Stone,  T.  T.,  163. 

Storer,  Mrs.  R.  B.,  3.  . 

Storrow,  Miss  Ann  G.,  35. 
Storrow,  Samuel,  51,  52. 
Story,  Joseph,  33. 
Story,  William  W.,  240. 
Story,  Mrs.  William  W.,  238,  240,  241, 

266,  275  ;  narrative  of,  241 ;   letter 

from,  244  ;  letter  to,  268. 
"  Summer  on  the  Lakes,"  194. 
Sumner,  Horace,  275. 

TAPPAN,  Caroline  (Sturgis),  87,  111, 

154,  156, 199,  200,  211. 
"Tasso."  by  Goethe,  translated,  47, 

63,  188. 

Taylor,  Helen,  281. 
Tennyson,  Alfred,  69,  220. 
"The    Great     Lawsuit"     (essay    in 

"Dial'1),  200. 

"  The  Third  Thought,"  285. 
Thoreau,  H.  D.,  130,  134,  144,  154, 

155, 164,  282. 
Thorndike,  Mrs.,  86. 
Ticknor,  George,  33. 
Tieck,  Louis,  45. 
Tocqueville,  A.  de,  126. 
"  Transcendental  "  movement,   the, 

133,  314. 
"Tribune,"    New  York,  papers    in, 

213. 

Trimmer,  Mrs.,  132. 
Tuckerman,  J.  F.,  163. 

UHLAND,  J.  L.  45. 

VACGHAN,  Mr.,  149. 
Very,  Jones,  144,  146. 
Visconti,  Marchesa,  281. 


INDEX. 


323 


WARD,  Anna  (Barker),  36,  68. 
Ward,  Samuel  G.,  letter  to,  56. 
Wayland,  Francis.  90. 
Webster,  Daniel,  86. 
Webster,  Mrs.  J.  W.,  35. 
Weiss,  John,  3. 

Wesselhoeft,  Mrs.  Minna,  192,  193. 
Whitman,  Sarah  Helen,  299. 
Whittier,  John  G.,  131. 


Williams,  Abraham,  10. 

Willis,  N.  P.,  80,  229. 

Wilson,  William  D.,  144, 163. 

"  Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Cen 
tury,"  202,  287. 

Woodward,  E.,  41. 

Wordsworth,  William,  45,  134,  223- 
225,  229,  290,  291. 

Wordsworth,  Mrs.  William,  224. 


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